Executioner
by Onesimus42
Summary: A very AU story based on a picture of our very own butler as an executioner in Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. What if this executioner met Elsie Hughes under less than favorable circumstances?
1. A meeting

Closing the door behind him, he glanced at the dark corridor and sighed. No matter how many times he explained, he couldn't make them understand. It was too soon. The measurements would be all off and just have to be repeated. It would really be best just to wait until time, or at least until after the woman had…. But then that thought made him even more uncomfortable in an ill-defined way. He sighed again. Not his place to question. Just to do.

His steps echoed on the dark floor until he stopped in front of her. Squaring his shoulders, he took his time studying her form. She was sitting so he couldn't be completely sure of her height, but if he was any judge—and he was—she was not too short for a woman, perhaps 5'6". She was thin though, too thin considering her condition, perhaps eight stone.

He was disturbed from his calculations by an unexpectedly gentle voice. "Are you the man who's to kill me, then?"

Lifting his chin a fraction, he studied the eyes that were now studying him. Sad, kind eyes. That surprised him.

Hiding that surprise behind a deep frown and gruff voice, "I am the executioner, Mrs. Hughes."

She stood to her feet and smoothed down her skirt with shaking hands. He couldn't resist a downward glance; just the hint of swelling there. He was also pleased to see that his initial estimate was correct. 5'6" but perhaps closer to nine stone.

She gave a bitter laugh. "So professional. You're the executioner. Am I not to at least know your name?"

He twisted his neck in his collar and narrowed his eyes. "I see no need for you to know that, Mrs. Hughes. I'm just …"

"Just the man that's to kill me," she said, with resignation instead of the expected malice, "I should at least know your name."

"Carson. Charles Carson."

She inclined her head, "And I am Elsie Hughes, as you already know. Tell me, Mr. Carson," her voice rolled over the 'R' of his name in an intriguing way, "why have you come now? Have they changed their minds?"

He sighed in frustration, "No, Mrs. Hughes, they've not changed their minds. They do not understand that things will change."

"Change? How?"

"Your measurements… It is important. To be quick…" His voice trailed off. He'd never been this frank with one of his jobs.

"My measurements?" she asked before realization first brightened and then clouded her eyes.

"You mean after the bairn is born, don't you? Does it make such a difference?"

He chewed his inner cheek. Against his better judgment, he found the words slipping out. "I have to take your height and weight into account. It will make it easier, quicker."

She closed her eyes and breathed out quickly, before she opened them to reveal deep clouds of sadness. "Quicker, easier," she repeated flatly.

He was intrigued even further by her lack of self-pity or even fear. "If it is quicker, it will be easier. I have no wish to harm you. There will be little pain."

"Do you speak from experience, Mr. Carson?" she asked with a hint of amusement in her voice.

His gaze dropped to the ground, and his shoulders fell. He chose not to answer that question. Instead, he asked a question of his own, "It will be four months, I believe?"

She caught her lip between her teeth, "Closer to five."

He glanced down reflexively, "Do you have someone to bring food?" When she glanced at him sharply, he added, "I should be able to see that you have enough. The babe shouldn't suffer…."

"Just because his mother is a murderer?" she finished for him.

He nodded, eyes fixed now on hers.

"The guards have been kind so far," her eyes darted away from hers.

"They will continue to be so," he assured her gravely. "I will return tomorrow."

"I will surely be here, Mr. Carson," she said and then turned back to her seat.

As he walked down the corridor, he felt his gaze pulled back to see her sitting with back straight and dry eyes watching him.

He paused in his step. A most intriguing woman. That was something to ponder.


	2. An explanation

She could feel the change in the air just before hearing the door at the end of the corridor open. Glancing at the window, she noticed that it was just past midday. It would be him then. She took a deep breath and listened to his even tread, exactly eight paces, the same eight paces he had taken each day for a fortnight, before he stood in front of her.

"Mr. Carson," she greeted him.

He inclined his head toward her, and she caught the quick dart of his eyes downward. When his eyes met hers again, she noticed the faint tinge of pink in his cheeks. "Mrs. Hughes, I trust you are feeling well."

"Well enough, Mr. Carson," she nodded. "Mrs. Mason has kept me well supplied."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. She almost suspected a smile. He answered her unspoken question, "She wished to help. She remembered you from before."

"It is kind of her to remember," she said softly.

Warm, brown eyes met hers and narrowed for a moment. She saw them lighten as he leaned forward. "There are many who remember you well."

She lifted her eyebrows in question.

"All women."

Now she narrowed her eyes at him.

"It would seem, Mrs. Hughes," he said in a quiet rumble, "that our village is neatly divided. The women support you, perhaps they can see a bit of themselves in your predicament. The men on the other hand are, for want of a better word, afraid."

She had no idea how to answer that. So she didn't.

They stood looking at each other in silence. Then, he did something he'd never done before: he stepped forward. His face was almost touching the bars of her cell. He was invading her senses. Not in a menacing way, but her heart was racing nevertheless.

"Will you tell me what happened, Mrs. Hughes?" his voice now likely as near to a whisper as it would ever get.

She smoothed her hands over her skirt and moistened her dry lips with her tongue. His eyes followed both movements with equal interest.

"I killed my husband. With a knife. You know that Mr. Carson," she said, keeping her eyes fixed on his.

He grimaced, "Not that. Before. Tell me what happened before."

"Why?" she asked, "No one else has wanted to know. The constable didn't care. The judge couldn't be bothered."

He scowled now and raised his hand, palm outward, to silence her. His next words came out in a near growl. "Because, Mrs. Hughes, I take my job very seriously. It is not a pleasant job, but it is a necessary one. I bring order. I need to know that what I am doing is right." At the end of what was nearly the longest speech she'd heard from him in the fifteen days she'd know him, his hand came to rest on the bars, and his eyes came to rest on her in a near pleading expression.

"My husband disciplined me. Physically disciplined me," she stated, "If that is not clear to you, Mr. Carson, he hit me. With his hands. With a rod. He would hit me when he was drunk and when he was sober."

"For how long," his voice was raspy now but his eyes betrayed no emotion.

"For so long that I am almost thankful for this cell. It is the first time that I've been free of pain for years, and all I have to fear now is death," she said, and his eyes did close at her last words.

When his lids lifted again, he asked one further question, "Why now?"

Unconsciously, she placed her hand over her abdomen, and she saw the light of understanding in his eyes before she even spoke. "Because, he had begun to aim his blows differently once he found out about the bairn. I was afraid. Afraid that I'd…"

He nodded and straightened his shoulders, preparing to return to his customary distance before she stopped him with a question of her own.

"And you, Mr. Carson. Are you afraid of me?"

He met her eyes again and shook his head slowly. "No, Mrs. Hughes. I am ashamed. Heartily ashamed that this… that you suffered in such a way, and I did nothing. I knew nothing."

She let go of the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding, and without conscious thought, raised her hand to brush his fingers which still gripped the bars of her cell.

He looked at her in such a way that she knew he felt the same warmth from the touch that had jolted up her arm.

"Thank you for that, Mr. Carson."

He straightened and stepped reluctantly back from her cell. "Until tomorrow, Mrs. Hughes. Keep well until tomorrow."

She nodded and watched his back as he walked determinedly away. Something to ponder indeed.


	3. A plan

_**The first two parts of this story have been posted to Tumblr. I thought I would put it here to make it easier to follow.**_

He stood watching her hands. Perhaps he could use his time more productively, but for the moment, he was content.

"Mrs. Bates has visited," he stated rather than asked, appreciating the blanket that was taking shape in her hands.

"And Reverend Bates as well," she nodded.

He smiled. For some reason, it was surprisingly easy to smile for her.

"They were both quite sympathetic to our…, your plight," he said, resting his hand on the bars.

She finished the row she was on and looked up at him sharply, but she did not ask the question he expected.

"Do you think they will take care of my baby?"

His hand gripped the bar tighter. That was the same question he had asked himself for the past two months. He cared nothing for many of the answers that had come to him.

She sighed when he didn't answer and stood, getting his attention by resting her hand on his fingers. His eyes found hers, and he stretched his fingers so that he could caress the side of her hand with his thumb.

Her eyes were drawn down to their joined fingers. "It's just that I wonder what will happen to her after I am gone-an orphan child of a murderess."

He took a deep breath that he then pushed out through his nose. She lived in the dark. He had no desire to add to it.

"I am hoping that there will not be an after." He hurried on at her stricken expression, "That is, that your child will not be an orphan." Then he watched her eyes carefully for a reaction.

"Do not try to give me hope if there is none," she said flatly, "That would be cruel and you are not a cruel man."

His chin lifted and his heart filled with pride. She trusted him, and he doubted that trust was something she would give lightly.

"I do not merely hope, Mrs. Hughes," he said carefully, "I plan."

She covered her eyes with her free hand and took several shuddering breaths.

In a much shorter time than he would have expected, she squared her shoulders and met his eyes again. "Tell me."

He nodded, proud of her strength.

"One thing, one important thing, is that there is no specific time when your sentence is to be carried out. The judge only said after. After your child is born then you're to …" he trailed off.

"Hang by the neck until dead," she finished for him, "I was there, Mr. Carson."

He stopped and took a moment to study her. There was more weariness in her than anything else.

Stretching out his fingers again, he was able to wrap his hand around hers to draw at least that small part of her closer.

He continued, his voice rasping over the words, "What I mean to say is that we will have some time, time to work out what to do. Reverend Bates is already helping, as is my assistant Thomas. A word here and there. Opinions about what happened are changing, softening. I believe…"

She scoffed now and curled her fingers away from him, "So I might be released to live as some sort of pariah among villagers who couldn't be bothered to help me before. I cannot see that would be any kind of life for myself or the wee babe."

He leaned forward, anxious to convince her now. "You could leave. The judge might even be persuaded to change your sentence. Emigration."

"Would just be a slower execution for a woman alone with a babe," she said, her face closing off.

"You would not be alone," his words came out much harsher than he'd intended so he hastened to clarify himself, "not if you didn't wish it. I don't mean… That is, I would merely travel with you. To protect you and the babe until you were settled. I wouldn't expect anything." He decided to keep his hopes to himself.

She stared at him now, studying him as though he were something altogether new that she'd encountered. Stepping back, she drew her hand from his completely.

"Mr. Carson, I wouldn't, I couldn't ask such a thing of you," she said, eyes still fixed on his in question. "You couldn't leave your home, your position."

He placed both palms against the bars of the cell to steady himself. "I have no home here, no family. As for my position, I no longer feel that I can serve in this capacity. You or rather your predicament, I should say, has made me question everything."

She shook her head in wonder, "But still, you shouldn't…"

"I shouldn't take the opportunity to help a woman who has received nothing but ill from the world?" he asked. "Allow me to decide what I should or shouldn't do, if you please."

She opened her mouth to protest again, but he held out his hand to quiet her, "Mrs. Hughes, I may not seem that I have many skills, but I am strong. I have no fear of hard work. All I ask is that you make no hasty decisions."

"Such as deciding to leave a valuable position to emigrate halfway around the world with a disgraced woman and her babe?" she asked with an uplifted eyebrow.

He could feel the tension leaving his shoulders now. "I have not made this decision lightly," he said.

"Well, then, Mr. Carson, it would seem that we both have much to ponder."


	4. A change

_**Sorry it took a bit longer for this update. Enjoying the spoilers too much, I suppose. Also, writing anyone other than Carson or Hughes is much harder for me.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: Not mine and unfortunately never will be. Although, I might argue that this is so AU, I'd have a good case. Also, many thanks to Hogwarts Duo (chelsie-carson on Tumblr) for the lovely picture which inspired this and that she allowed me to use for the cover.**_

The door opened. Midday. Her shoulders relaxed, and she smiled to herself. The time spent with him each day made her life nearly bearable. Then she heard a steady tread, but not his tread. Her stomach clenched, and the knot found its way back to her shoulders.

She just had time to set her knitting aside before looking up to see a strange man standing quietly in front of her cell. His head was tilted to the side, studying her carefully. She studied him in return. Tall, but not as tall as her Mr. Carson. Dark hair. A youngish man but with old eyes.

She was the first to give in to her curiosity. "Have you come to gape at the murderess?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "No, love, I've come to see the woman who's fascinated the guv'ner."

She pushed herself from her chair with some difficulty. "You're Mr. Carson's assistant. Thomas is it?"

His eyebrows lifted, "He's mentioned me?"

She took a moment to decide, "He said that you were helping."

"Oh, that," he smiled, "a word here, a word there. Just enough."

"And why would you help?" she asked, more curious about this than anything else.

He pursed his lips in thought before nodding shortly, "Old Carson's always been good to me." Then his mouth tightened on any other words he was about to say.

She decided not to probe further for the moment. "Where is Mr. Carson?"

"He had some business today out of town. Won't be back until late. That's what he told me," he said, "He asked me to be sure that you were well."

The knot in her shoulders loosened. She glanced down, tucking this new bit of knowledge about her friend into her heart.

"And are you?" he asked.

She tilted her head to the side, "I am."

"He mentioned that your back had been troubling you," the young man said, narrowing his eyes at her carefully.

Her hand went unconsciously to the small of her back, rubbing at the tightness there.

"Only a bit, and nothing unexpected at this stage, I understand," she said.

He nodded and cleared his throat, "And, ah, you're eating well, I trust?"

"Quite well," she smiled, "Mrs. Mason takes her role very seriously."

"Mr. Carson will be glad to know," he said.

After a moment of looking at her awkwardly, he asked, "Do you need anything? Anything that Mr. Carson could bring?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, "That would depend on when I would see him again."

He smiled in satisfaction at the bit of knowledge he'd gained. "I think you can be assured that you will see him tomorrow."

She cleared her throat and averted her eyes to hide her relief. "Very well, thank you for you visit, Mr.—"

"Barrow" he supplied.

"You've done a great service to me, Mr. Barrow. Perhaps the thanks of a condemned woman is worth little, but you have mine."

He nodded and turned to leave. He paused after just one step and then turned back. "Mrs. Hughes, you should know that your situation is not unique."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

His smile was more a grimace as he added, "My mother died when I was very young."

She swallowed. "I see."

He nodded at the understanding dawning in her eyes and then took another step away from her before turning back one last time.

"And you've no need to worry about Mr. Carson, ma'am. I doubt anything would keep him from you for another day."

As she watched his retreating back, she tucked her new knowledge away to ponder.


	5. Trust

_**Still very AU. I hope to reach a conclusion soon, but it isn't entirely written so please be patient.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes belong to someone who is unfortunately not me. If I owned them we would have 10 series of them falling in love in every age and every situation.**_

He paused for a moment to adjust his collar before opening the door. She didn't need to know about those marks. Not yet. Hopefully, not ever.

As he took his first steps down the corridor, he thought he heard the rustle of her skirts, and he definitely knew he detected her presence. A presence that he'd missed acutely yesterday.

In a moment, he was standing in front of her cell, and he allowed himself the pleasure of studying her figure.

She was heavier now, ungainly with her weight centered in her middle. Unconsciously, he noticed more weight in another area as well, and he quickly lifted his eyes from her chest to her forehead, pushing those thoughts deep in his mind along with all the other ones that had troubled him these past weeks.

"Mr. Barrow was right," she said, a gentle smile on her lips and in her eyes. She answered his uplifted eyebrows without any further prompting. "He said you would certainly be here today."

His voice sounded unusually harsh even to his own ears, "Mr. Barrow knows me well."

Her mouth pulled down in a frown, and he tucked the look of concern deep into that box in his mind.

"Are you ill, Mr. Carson? Is that why you were unable to come yesterday?"

His lip twitched, and he rolled his shoulders, "Just a bit of a sore throat. Nothing to trouble yourself about, Mrs. Hughes."

She bit her lip, the look of concern still in eyes which dropped down to the hand tugging up the edge of his collar.

With a quick, painful swallow, he decided to divert her attention, "He informed me that he thought your back was bothering you more than you say."

She stood with minimal difficulty, but her hand went to the small of her back. His eyes narrowed in concern and then darted quickly to the thin mattress on her pallet.

"I doubt that anywhere would be very comfortable for the next month, Mr. Carson," she said.

He frowned. Only one more month and then perhaps another fortnight; after that the judge would likely force the issue.

"It will be so soon, you believe?" he asked.

"Mrs. Crawley believes it may be even sooner," she said, "I am beginning to have some twinges."

As if on cue, she took a sharp intake of breath and pressed her hand to her abdomen. He took a step toward her in alarm.

"Are you well? Should I fetch the doctor?"

She raised her hand and shook her head, "Calm yourself. Only one of those twinges. And when the time comes, I'll thank you to fetch the midwife."

He watched until the pain relaxed from her face and said, "If that is what you wish, but if it's the expense you're worried about…"

"No, Mr. Carson," she said, patiently. "I would just prefer someone with experience. Real experience. Not just as a spectator."

"But…" he started to protest again, worry for her overcoming his good sense.

She placed her hand over his on the bars. "I will not be moved on this, Mr. Carson. I may not have control over much in my life, but surely I have a right to determine who will be at the birth of my only child."

He let his forehead fall against the bars, exhausted. He felt his own control in this situation rapidly slipping. Then her hand brushed his forehead, and he lifted his eyes to hers. Her face was mere inches from his. If there were not bars between them…

Her words came out as a raspy whisper, "Mr. Carson…." Her eyes darted back and forth between his eyes and his lips as she seemed to lose her train of thought.

"Hmmm?" he lifted his eyebrows in question but kept his eyes fixed on hers.

"Will you tell me about the marks on your neck?"

The spell lifted. He pulled back quickly from the bars, but left his hand under hers. His other hand tugged at his collar.

"These marks? They're nothing. Just an accident. Nothing to worry you."

As he watched, sadness gradually clouded her eyes from blue to gray. "I never thought you'd lie to me," she said softly.

"Mrs. Hughes, I…," he took a deep breath, "I have no desire to lie to you, but for now, I cannot tell you. Please, trust me."

She sighed and nodded, trailing her fingers over his before dropping her hand to her side.

He lifted one corner of his mouth in appreciation and glanced around her cell, looking for a way to divert the conversation. Unfortunately, he couldn't keep his mind from dwelling in places it shouldn't go.

His voice, already harsh, came out as a growl, "You should have a soft bed, warm blankets, a crib for the babe."

She blinked her eyes, and he instantly felt contrite for reminding her of her plight.

"Mr. Carson, not many women have that, even if not many women are in my present circumstances. I am grateful for what I do have."

"And what is that?"

"Time. Time to see my child born. To hold her," she smiled and rubbed her hand unconsciously over her abdomen. "A friend. A dear friend who assures that I have warm blankets and enough food. A dear friend who has assured that there will be someone to watch over my child once…"

"More than that Mrs. Hughes," he said, watching her carefully.

"More?" she asked, voice quieter now.

"More than a dear friend," he said, stepping close again.

Her breathing quickened, "I believe I do know that, but…"

"Not now," he finished for her with a grimace. "That must wait, until after."

"And if there is no after?" she asked, eyes capturing his.

"There will be. There must be. Trust me, Mrs. Hughes," he said firmly.

"With my life, Mr. Carson."


	6. A respite

_**Thank you for all the kind words both here and at Tumblr. I hope the story doesn't move too slowly. And I'm trying to keep my pace up. These two are taking over my dreams**_

 _ **Disclaimer: Still not mine. I may give them back when finished. Or I may not. I'm a bit obsessed with these two now.**_

She woke to a cool cloth on her forehead and opened her eyes to see Mrs. Crawley smiling down at her. She opened her mouth to protest but was stilled by a hand on her arm. Turning her head to her other side tiredly, she met a pair of warm, hazel eyes.

"Mr. Carson, what…?"

Mrs. Crawley answered her question, "You gave us quite a fright, Mrs. Hughes, or rather you gave Mr. Carson quite a fright. How are you feeling?"

Taking a moment to assess, she said, "Tired and my head is sore, but otherwise I feel well. Where am I?"

The deep voice from her other side answered her, "The vicarage. We thought it would be best." His hand trailed down her arm to wrap around her fingers. She clung to his hand tightly.

Mrs. Crawley took up the explanation, "Mr. Carson found you when he came for his visit."

"Lying on the ground, white as a sheet," a deeper, shaking voice interjected.

Mrs. Crawley fixed the man across from her with a stern look, "He sent for me, and we brought you here."

She turned her eyes toward her other rescuer, "You did listen."

"You said the midwife. Thomas fetched the midwife," he said, thumb caressing the side of her hand.

Turning back to Mrs. Crawley, she asked, "Is it time then? I didn't think…"

"It is not," Mrs. Crawley answered, "However, you should have told me about all that back pain you were having and how often those 'twinges' as you call them were coming. I would have had you resting more. There's no need for this babe to be hasty."

She sighed, "I thought…"

The older woman interrupted her, "Mrs. Hughes, if you want me to care for you and your child, you must be completely forthright with me."

The man at her side squeezed her fingers tighter and opened his mouth to speak. Mrs. Crawley spoke first.

"Now, Mr. Carson, if you'll excuse us for a moment." When he looked ready to protest, she added, "I must examine Mrs. Hughes a bit closer.

He reluctantly released her fingers. She felt the void immediately.

When the door shut behind him, Mrs. Crawley turned back to her.

"Quite the protector you have there," she said, washing her hands carefully in the basin. "He's only left your side when I practically pushed him out of the room."

There was no more speaking, except for 'turn here' and 'just there' until the examination was finished.

"The baby is lower, head down now. Just as she should be," the midwife said, smiling gently. "That's why your back has been hurting so much. As we'd already have known if you had told me as you should have." She finished by fixing her with a stern look, offset by her smile.

"I didn't realize," she answered, "After all, I've not done this before."

"Of course not," Mrs. Crawley answered. "That's why I am here." She started to pack her bag. "Should I send Mr. Carson back in? I've no doubt he has worn a path outside the door."

"When will I be going back?"

"You won't be. At least not until your babe is born," the midwife answered. "I may not be able to do much to add to your comfort, but I can insist on that."

Mr. Carson was through the door the moment she opened it, So he had been standing just outside. She tucked that thought deep in her heart.

His eyes were on hers immediately, and though his question was for Mrs. Crawley, his eyes never strayed. "She and the babe are well?"

"Well enough," Mrs. Crawley said, "just exhausted I believe."

Reluctantly, Mrs. Hughes supplied, "It has been difficult to sleep these last weeks."

His eyes narrowed at her, "Especially there. You should have…"

Mrs. Crawley interrupted the brewing argument, "Nevertheless, she is here now and will remain so if I have anything to do with it."

His eyes left hers long enough to nod his thanks at Mrs. Crawley who, with one last reassuring glance for her patient, left.

As the door clicked shut, their current reality dawned on her. They were alone. With no bars between them.

Mr. Carson stepped toward the bed and sat in the chair beside it. With only a moment's hesitation, he took the small hand that lay on top of the blanket between both of his large ones.

"You're cold," he said softly, fingers trailing over the back of her hand.

She relished the feel of his hand on hers with no cold iron between. "Only my hands."

He smiled and his fingers kept up their pattern on the back of her hand. "At least you have a warm, soft bed now."

"Are you sure they will not make me return?" she asked, "After all, I suppose I could escape without a minder."

"Is there much danger of a woman so…" he groped for the right words, "indisposed to run far away?"

"Well, I suppose you do have a point," she smiled. Despite her situation she was indescribably glad to have her hand finally held so lovingly in his.

"Mmmm," he agreed, his eyes fixed on their joined hands. "Still, Thomas will stay here to make sure that you don't escape."

She took a deep breath, and the smile slipped from her face. "Kiss me."

His eyes snapped up to hers, and his eyebrows climbed his forehead. "Mrs. Hughes?" His voice trembled.

"Time runs away so quickly, Mr. Carson," she said softly. "We've been given a gift."

He nodded almost imperceptivity, eyes fixed on her lips now. "I've wondered."

"As have I. I would rather be able to remember than wonder."

His lip twitched in a smile before he bent forward. His lips just a breath away from hers, he said, "Just a few memories for now."

Then, he touched his lips to hers and there was no more talking.


	7. A distraction

_**Another perspective. Thank you again for the reviews and kind words. Working toward a resolution. I promise. Again, writing anyone other than Carson or Hughes is difficult.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I still do not own these characters, but I am thinking about a petition.**_

He paced once more between the horse's stall and the stable door, taking the opportunity to stare toward the house. Picking up the brush in frustration, he applied it once more to the horse's coat and tried force his thoughts into some sort of order.

After a few more exasperating minutes, he had decided. He was going to check. Surely he should have heard something by now. He turned sharply toward the door only to be greeted by the smiling form of the vicar.

"It's likely to be hours yet, Mr. Carson," he said, "You should go about your day's business."

He chewed at the inside of his jaw and glanced around the vicar toward the house. Too worried for anything but honesty, he said, "I cannot. Not while…" He gestured vaguely toward the house. "Is, um, all well? In there?"

Mr. Bates smiled in sympathy, "As well as can be. A birthing room is no place for a man." Then he leaned toward him conspiratorially, "As I was told in no uncertain terms when I tried to check. I am sorry, Mr. Carson."

He ground his teeth. Waiting. Without a thing to do. He glanced around the stable to see if there was anything that needed doing.

The vicar apparently decided to rescue him, "I was informed that the most helpful thing I could do was to keep these lads occupied." Carson glanced around him to notice his two sons shifting from foot to foot behind him. "Would you like to help me or would you prefer to brush the hide off that horse?"

He smiled, "I suppose I shouldn't let you be outnumbered." He shrugged into his coat and put his cape over his shoulders.

The vicar let the boys run ahead before turning back to him with a chuckle, "Two boys and one girl, Mr. Carson. We're outnumbered on a daily basis." He took a limping step and added, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Carson glanced down at his friend's leg. It must be hurting worse than usual. He looked back at the house with a deep sigh.

The two men walked at a steady but slightly slower than usual pace.

"Is it always this difficult?" Mr. Carson asked quietly.

The vicar's lips twisted, "Not always. Only when the weather changes. It makes my knee ache."

Mr. Carson grunted in frustration, "I meant the birth, man. I can see your leg hurts."

"I know," he answered, "I was trying to take your mind off it; another of Mrs. Bates' suggestions."

Mr. Carson glanced at him from the corner of his eye, "Were there any other suggestions?"

"Alcohol might have been mentioned," the vicar said, ruefully, "Anything to keep you from knocking on the door again."

Carson rolled his shoulders and twisted his neck in his collar. "I apologize. It's just that I'm…"

"Worried," the vicar finished for him. "I understand Mr. Carson. I was just as worried myself; all three times. Mrs. Crawley is the best midwife though, and Mrs. Hughes is strong. The best thing you could do is be patient. The first does take longer. Then they'll have to wash the child, and she'll nurse…"

The tips of his ears heated at the thought of the child nursing, and he decided it might be best to just change the subject. "It is not only the birth that I'm anxious about. I believe you know that."

"I do," he agreed, "But I think we've done everything that we can in that regard."

"Have we?" Mr. Carson asked. "Do you really believe our plan will work?"

"Your plan, Mr. Carson," Mr. Bates corrected, "I believe that we've done everything that we can. Mr. Barrow and I have done everything to turn public opinion in your favor. Judge Crawley is being somewhat obstinate, but…"

Mr. Carson said, "I had hoped to avoid it altogether, but even if she must face that," his face twisted into a grimace, "she will not be harmed. I've tested that myself." He tugged at his collar.

"Are you quite sure?" the vicar asked and then hastened on at the steady glare Carson settled on him, "I only mean that you could leave. Now, or at least soon. We could keep the child for a time at least."

Mr. Carson watched the boys skip stones over the pond and took his time formulating a response.

He kept his eyes on the distance as he answered, "Mrs. Hughes has had very little good in her life. I would not ask her to leave this child behind if there is any other alternative."

"It is a great gamble, Mr. Carson," the vicar said.

He shook his head, "Not a gamble, Mr. Bates. A plan. A very careful plan."

Mr. Bates nodded. "Very well, then I will hope that your plan works."

Carson straightened his shoulders and then subconsciously looked over his shoulder at the house.

Mr. Bates glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and smiled. He called to his sons and then turned back toward the house. "We'll go back now, but please, Mr. Carson, if you value my marriage, let me check."

That earned him another glare from Mr. Carson.

As they walked back toward the house, the vicar added quietly, "You said Mrs. Hughes had very little good in her life. I agree, but I can see that you intend to change that."

He nodded. "I do, Mr. Bates. I do."


	8. A question

_**Just one or two more chapters I think in this AU of AUs. I hope that the suspense has been worth it.**_

There was a soft knock on the door. It would be him. She adjusted her dressing gown and glanced down to see that her daughter was still asleep in the crib. "You may come in Mr. Carson."

The door opened fully, and his eyes instantly found hers before glancing down at the bundle in the crib.

"It might not have been me," he rumbled quietly in deference to the sleeping child.

"It is midday. Who else would it be?" she teased gently.

While she was speaking he stepped closer to the crib and as usual was fascinated by the small figure there.

"Has she been sleeping long?" he asked, but she answered the question she knew he really meant.

"You may hold her if you wish. She'll need to eat soon."

His cheeks tinted faintly pink, and she caught his eyes darting toward her chest. She wondered briefly if he imagined what that might be like.

In a moment, he had her daughter scooped gently into his large hands and was standing beside her chair. She watched him study the small features in fascination.

He smiled at her. "She is beautiful."

"You say that every day," she smiled up at him.

"It is true every day," he said softly. Then he added something that he'd not said before, "She looks just like you."

"Mr. Carson," she admonished, her own cheeks warming.

The babe stretched and made a whimpering sound, and his attention was focused for a moment on quieting her.

"Mrs. Hughes," he kept his eyes fixed on the child in his arms, "I have struggled these past months. I felt that it would not be proper to ask yet, that you might feel under some sort of obligation."

"Mr. Carson," she said, turning her eyes toward the window and twisting her hands in her lap. "I don't know that now…"

"I cannot remain silent on this matter," he continued firmly, and she could feel his eyes on her, imploring her to look at him.

When she did, he spoke softly, "I want you to know that I love you, and it is my dearest wish to marry you. It will have to wait until this dreadful business is over, but I feel that it is your right to know that simple fact."

She closed her eyes but frustrated tears still leaked out.

"I am sorry, Mrs. Hughes," he apologized, and she could hear the near anguish in his voice, "I had thought… The intimacies that we've shared, our talks. I felt sure that you knew my feelings, my intentions, and I believed that you felt the same. Had I known that you did not, I would never…"

"Stop," she said and stood from her rocking chair. She looked at him tenderly, this great bear of a man holding her child as gently as he held her heart. Cupping his cheek with her palm, she stroked his jaw with her thumb. "Of course I love you. How could you ever believe otherwise? Do you think I would have allowed you, let alone asked you, to kiss me if I did not?"

"Then why are you crying?" he asked.

She let her hand rest on his chest, his steady heartbeat giving her strength. "The baby is born. Soon, very soon, your hands will tie a knot and place a rope around my neck. Your hands will push me from the gallows. Will you be able to do that, Mr. Carson?"

"I will, Mrs. Hughes," he said, "because the rope that I will place around your neck will break."

"You can't be certain," she said, but she narrowed her eyes at him, glancing toward the scars that peeked over the edge of his collar.

He carefully handed her the sleeping child and loosened his neck cloth. "I can be certain, because I broke the rope."

She stared at the healed rope burns on his neck. Now that she could see them fully they could be mistaken for nothing else. "But how can you be certain that a new rope would break?" she asked. "I thought you told me it depended on weight and height, and we are certainly not near in either regard."

"Because it will be the same rope, glued together," he explained patiently.

"And what if they insist on another rope?"

"There are three," his eyes never left hers.

"You hanged yourself three times just to break rope?"

"Four," he said, "One didn't break. I had to cut it."

Her hand lifted to her mouth at the thought of him hanging from the end of a rope struggling to cut himself free. He ignored her and explained, "It has to look right, as though the rope has broken under strain."

She still couldn't speak. Her mind still filled with the horror of what might have been. He filled the silence with his explanation, "I read the sentence again, Mrs. Hughes. It says you are to be hanged. That is all. No further words. Not that you are to be hanged until dead. Only that you are to be hanged. When I read that, the thought came to me. If the rope breaks, perhaps it is the hand of Providence to save you. At least, that is what the vicar is prepared to say."

The babe stirred in her arms, so she sat down to rock her gently, still turning this new knowledge over in her mind.

"You've spent all your time doing this?" she asked finally, "For me?"

"It is the only way that I can find for you to ever be truly free," he said, pulling a chair close to hers and sitting so that they were on eye level. "If this works, then you would be free to live anywhere in Great Britain with no need to hide." He paused and added, "However, if you do not wish the risk, then I am prepared to leave with you and the babe as soon as you feel able. I have spoken to a few ships' captains in Blackpool. I can work for our passage." He paused again, "You wouldn't have to marry me. I mean, it wouldn't be a condition of my helping you. We could travel together as brother and sister."

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "These are the plans that I have made, Mrs. Hughes. They may seem desperate plans, but no more desperate than the situation."

The babe was quiet again but still fidgeting a little in her sleep. She would need to nurse her soon.

"You would risk your neck, your life for me?" she asked, lifting her fingers to trace the scars under the edge of his open collar.

"Only because your neck and your life are very precious to me," he answered softly, voice trembling at her touch.

She bit her lip. "And do you think yours is any less precious to me?"

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. The moment was broken when her daughter started to cry.

"The babe needs to nurse," she said, "Come back tomorrow and you will have your answer."

He nodded and walked quickly to the door. Her voice stopped him with his hand on the handle. "One thing only, Charles," He turned to look at her in surprise at her use of his given name. "I could never be as a sister to you."

He smiled, "That is a good thing to know, Elsie."

With that final word, he bowed to her, turned on his heel and left her with a great deal to ponder indeed.


	9. A hanging

_**Disclaimer: I did zero research for this chapter. No idea if this is how executions would go down in 19**_ _ **th**_ _ **century Britain or not. Sorry, but there it is.**_

There was some cruel joke in the fact that Charles now stood as close to her as he ever had, but on a gallows in full view of most of the townspeople. He was so close that he could feel her tremble as a cold wind worked its way between them and through the too thin fabric of her dress. Shifting slightly, he shielded her from the wind with his back but still she trembled. Pretending to check the bindings on her wrists, he took her hand in his. When she returned his gentle squeeze, he felt her trembling cease.

He leaned forward so that only her ears would catch his words, "I love you. I am here. I will protect you."

Her eyes met his for the briefest of moments, just long enough for him to catch the glint of appreciation and love in their blue depths.

Then, their attention was drawn to the judge as he climbed the steps to the platform so that he could address the crowd. Charles let his gaze drift out over that crowd. He had never seen them behave anything like this on any of his previous jobs. He'd seen them jeering at the prisoner. He'd seen them cheering as a man hanged. On one memorable occasion, he'd even seen a lad spit in the face of the prisoner as Charles dragged him to the gallows. Glancing at Thomas from the corner of his eye, he still wondered what the lad's father had done to him.

This crowd, though, was silent. Glaring at the gallows, at him, at Thomas, but especially at Judge Crawley who was preparing to read out her sentence once more.

"Mrs. Elspeth Hughes, for your crime…" the judge began but was cut off by a snarl from the crowd.

"What crime?" Charles eyes snapped up and scanned the group of men gathered at the base of the gallows. It was Mr. Mason. Bless him. "Protecting her life? Is that a crime?"

The judge scowled and spoke louder, "for your crime of willfully murdering Mr. Samuel Hughes…"

"Murder? Of that scoundrel? Did us all a service I'd say." Charles didn't have to look up to know that was Thomas' friend, James was it?

Judge Crawley now curled the paper tight in his fist and said, "Does anyone else wish to speak? You certainly kept quiet at the trial."

Sullen glares met his gaze but no one spoke. Charles was surprised. He knew opinions were changing, but he hadn't expected this.

When no one spoke, the judge nodded in satisfaction and lifted his paper to begin again.

Charles felt his heart thudding in his chest. His throat tightened. If he didn't speak now and anything happened to his Elsie…

"Your honor." He felt like squirming as all eyes shifted to him. The silent giant. The man of shadows. The man these people likely used to scare their children at night. For her, though, he stepped fully into the light.

"Your honor, no one spoke because no one knew," he said, he could feel her eyes on him now, warming his back, but kept his own attention focused on the judge. "Some crimes are hidden in the shadows."

Judge Crawley fixed his glare upon Charles. "No crime could justify a woman stabbing her husband."

Stepping forward so that his body more fully shielded Elsie from the judge, he asked, "Not even to protect her unborn child? Doesn't every woman have that right?"

"You Carson?" he asked incredulously, "You are questioning me? It's not your place to judge. Do your duty."

He stood still for a moment staring at the judge and then back to the crowd. Slowly, he turned to Elsie. Whispering once more for her ears only he said, "I'm sorry, love. I know we planned, but I cannot…"

He lifted the rope from her neck and turned back to the judge, "My duty is to bring justice and there's no justice here." He threw the rope to the ground.

Glaring out at the crowd, he said, "If anyone believes this woman should hang, come now and do it. I will not."

The judge turned his gaze on Thomas who just crossed his arms over his chest.

No one in the crowd moved.

Charles withdrew his clasp knife from his pocket and cut the bindings on her wrists. Silently, he took her arm in his hand and guided her from the gallows. The crowd parted before them and then closed behind them, blocking the judge as he tried to follow.

He didn't speak until they were through the door of the vicar's house. Then he turned to her.

"I'm sorry. I just couldn't. I couldn't…"

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. "Charles, don't apologize for not hanging me. Don't ever apologize for that."

"But we had a plan," he said, "I don't know what we'll do now. We'll have to run. Maybe the crowd will give us time." He drew her closer in his arms to calm his thoughts and started to plan. Grace would go with them, of course. Elsie would never leave her behind and in truth, neither would he. He needed to get to his rooms, gather a few belongings and the money he had hidden there. Perhaps Mrs. Bates would give them some food, just for a few days and then…

The door opened behind them. It was the vicar. He was not alone. Judge Crawley stood staring at the executioner with his arms around the woman he refused to hang.


	10. A resolution

_**Disclaimer: I own none of these characters only the idea for the story and the obsession that it brings.**_

They sat facing each other. Well, Elsie, the vicar and the judge sat. Charles stood behind her chair, his hand on the back so that she could feel the pressure of his fingers through the collar of her dress.

The judge was leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of his face, eyes flicking back and forth between Charles and her. Perhaps he didn't know that no matter how long he waited, Elsie could almost assuredly wait longer.

Finally, he sighed. "Tell me Carson. What is it about this woman that has bewitched you?"

She could feel Charles stiffen behind her and knew without looking that he was scowling at Judge Crawley. That would never do. She leaned back slightly against his hand and felt his tension ease.

"There was no bewitching, my lord," he said, "She is innocent of any murder; manslaughter perhaps, but there is no murder in a woman protecting her family."

The judge lifted one eyebrow, "Do you tell me the law now, Carson? Now that you've chosen to disobey it?"

Charles stiffened again, "I have never thought that I served the law, sir. I have always thought that my duty was to justice." After a moment he added, "I thought you felt the same."

It was Judge Crawley's turn to scowl now, but he was cut off by the vicar.

"If I may, sir," the vicar began.

"Don't presume too much, Bates," the judge growled.

"I presume nothing, sir," the vicar said, an ironic smile on his lips, "simply because I took a bullet in my knee that was meant for you. I speak merely with the authority of the church."

The judge smiled slightly now. Surely that was a good sign. Could a man send her to the gallows if he was smiling?"

The vicar began again, "With the authority of the church, I can vouch for Mrs. Hughes character. I have enough faith in her that I left her unguarded in my home on several occasions with my wife and children with no fear whatsoever for their safety."

The judge met his eyes and nodded thoughtfully, "So you would say that she has reformed?"

"I would say, sir, that she is not a dangerous woman. She acted in an extraordinary way in extraordinary circumstances. I doubt those circumstances would arise again."

The judge turned his gaze back on them and then fixed his eyes on Charles, "No, I can imagine any future husband would certainly behave much differently."

Charles spoke now, "She could be pardoned, sir, on condition of transportation."

Elsie's eyes turned toward the ground. She couldn't imagine such a journey with Grace, nor could she imagine Charles willing to sacrifice so much. Being parted from him would be a severe punishment.

"You do not agree, Mrs. Hughes?" the judge asked and she looked up to see his eyes fixed on her, not unkindly.

"I would not wish to be parted from my child," she said, "or…"

"Or other friends?" the judge asked, eyes flitting from hers to the man who stood behind her shoulder. Then, he spoke briskly, "But surely you'd do what was best for the child? She could remain here, with the vicar's wife perhaps?"

Charles spoke now, "That wouldn't be necessary, sir. I would travel with them, keep them safe."

"I don't know that I could ask you to sacrifice so much Carson," the judge said. He silenced both Charles and the vicar with a wave of his hand before standing to look out the window.

After a few moments, he said, "I am in a precarious position indeed Mrs. Hughes. On the one hand, I could certainly find another way to hang you." Elsie placed her hand over Charles' to quiet him. She wanted to hear all this man had to say.

He turned back to them, "However, I am quite certain that the crowd out there would see to it that I would be the next man hanging from the gallows if I were to do that."

He took a step toward them, "On the other hand, I cannot appear weak. Merciful? Yes. Weak? Never."

Placing both hands on the desk, he leaned toward her, "Mrs. Elspeth Hughes, based on the testimony to your good character from the vicar of this parish, you are pardoned…"

Tears of relief stung at her eyes, but the judge continued, "On the condition that you leave this parish never to return and that you marry someone who will guarantee your good conduct. I presume that will not be a problem?" His last question was directed to Charles.

She looked up to see that Charles' eyes were on her, loving eyes. She did not think that would be difficult at all.

The judge walked toward the door before turning back, "Mr. Carson, I believe it goes without saying that you are no longer the executioner."

"Of course, sir," Charles answered gruffly.

"I do, however, have a cousin with an estate outside of Ripon. He is almost always in need of grooms."

Charles kept his eyes fixed on Elsie's face. She nodded.

"I've always been good with horses, sir," he said, relief now evident in his voice.

The judge nodded, "I will write a letter for you and Mrs. Carson to carry to him. Tomorrow?"

This last question was directed at the vicar, who said, "Perhaps the day after tomorrow, sir. It does take a little time."

The vicar followed the judge through the door with a murmured excuse of needing to arrange things with Mrs. Bates.

Elsie's shoulders sagged with relief as soon as the door shut behind them. She put a trembling hand to her forehead and felt Charles kneel before her.

She looked up to see his eyes looking back into hers. Smiling in relief, she put her hand on his cheek.

He leaned into her touch and asked, "You don't mind?"

"Mind?" she asked, "That you've saved my life? That I will marry the man that I love and live safely with my child in England?"

He pressed his lips together. "That everything has been arranged. I wouldn't ever want you to feel that you were obligated…"

She could think of no words to answer his concerns so she simply placed her other hand on his cheek and leaned forward, bringing her lips to his. She poured all the love she'd felt building over these past months into her kiss. When they parted, she could see that there would be no more misunderstanding between them, at least not over their love for one another.

 _ **Author's note: I have read a bit about English criminal law of the 18**_ _ **th**_ _ **and 19**_ _ **th**_ _ **century now. It seems that pardons were relatively common (40-50% of those convicted of a 'hanging offense'). Some pardons were conditional on transportation while others were merely given based on the petition of family and friends. So, I felt free to come up with any way possible for these two to be happy and together. Only one more chapter/epilogue to go I believe simply because there's a little scene which I can't get out of my head. Otherwise, I'd be tempted to write about these two forever.**_


	11. A storm

The bed dipped beside him, and he opened his eyes to see the room suddenly brightly lit by a flash of lightning. Rolling onto his side, he saw that Elsie had brought Grace into the bed with them.

"Is Gracie ill?" he asked and saw Elsie jump at the first sound of his gruff voice.

Touching her shoulder to soothe her, his hand met bare flesh. Before he had a chance to withdraw his hand, Elsie shifted back slightly into his arms.

Torture. That's what it was. Torture. But if Elsie needed him, he would just have to endure. Perhaps he could go out into the cold rain after. Shuffling closer, he reached around her to put his hand on Grace's back and drew them both into his embrace, careful to keep his hips back. She didn't need that to worry her now.

She sighed. "Not ill. Just frightened I believe. I am sorry to have woken you."

He started to speak, but a loud clap of thunder caused Elsie to jump and Gracie to begin crying in earnest.

Elsie made soothing sounds while Charles rubbed the baby's back gently.

As Gracie's cries waned, he said, "You don't like the storm either."

Her attention remained on the child in their arms. "I've never cared for loud noises." He had no doubt that her previous home had been anything but quiet.

Lightning illuminated the room again and Charles lifted his hand from the babe's back to cover her ear, counting to himself until the clap of thunder came. Closer than the one before. They were going to be in for quite a storm. His hand must not have completely blocked the noise, because Gracie startled and began to cry again. Elsie jumped as well, bringing her closer to his hips. This might be a long night.

When another loud roll of thunder had Gracie crying more vigorously, Elsie sighed again, "Charles, the easiest way to soothe her would be to let her nurse. I know you don't like to be here. That is, I know that it makes you uncomfortable."

He hesitated. It did. There was no denying it. Torture. He was becoming more accustomed, but still it was torture. There was also no denying that Elsie shivered with each clap of thunder almost as much as Gracie. He would never leave her when she was like that.

"Go on. I'll just… It's dark."

She shifted slightly, and he could feel her movements as she loosened her nightgown more. Then, Gracie shuffling closer and the quiet sounds…

He took a deep breath and pressed his forehead against the back of her head. Torture. He kept his hand on Gracie's back and occasionally covered her ear to block the sound of the thunder. His hand was so close that he could almost feel… Torture. He tried his best to concentrate on counting between the flashes of lightning and the claps of thunder to judge if the storm was coming closer or going further away. Gradually, the storm seemed to be moving away. He began to relax. Maybe both of his girls would calm.

Soon, though, between the claps of thunder, he could feel her shoulders shake and hear the softest of sobs. Glancing at her during one of the flashes of lightning, he saw tears streaking her face.

"Elsie? Are you that frightened?"

She paused. Another flash of lightning gave him a glimpse of the curve of her white breast. He shifted his hips farther back. He hoped the storm would abate soon just so he could go out and stand in the cold rain.

"It's not the storm," she said fiercely.

"Then what?" he asked, and then rare insight dawned. "You don't believe I'm upset about Gracie nursing do you?"

"What else could it be?" she asked. "You're always away or find something else to do."

"It's not that," he said sharply, then quieter so that he wouldn't disturb the child who was contentedly and quietly nursing. "I think it's wonderful. Amazing. I think you are wonderful. Beautiful."

"Then what?" she asked, voice gentler now, but he could still hear her voice crack.

He tried to gather his thoughts, not an easy task when most of his mind and body were otherwise occupied. "I just didn't think it would be proper. I mean, for me to see so much of you when," he struggled to find the right words, "we've not known each other. Fully known each other, that is."

"And why haven't we?" she asked, "Fully known each other, I mean. Do you not want that? I don't understand you. Do you want to live together as brother and sister?"

He barked a laugh which unfortunately startled poor Gracie. Carefully, he soothed her with his hand on her cheek, brushing Elsie's breast as he did so. Words failed him so he shifted his hips closer to her bottom so that she could feel him, all of him.

"Oh," she whispered in soft surprise, and then surprised him by pressing her bottom snugly against him.

His mouth went dry, and his arm tightened around her, mouth brushing her neck in a hungry kiss.

"Then why?" she asked.

He took several deep breaths to calm himself before speaking gruffly. "I thought—that is, Mrs. Crawley warned me—to not be too eager, that childbirth is a difficult business. She said you would need time to recover. I just wanted you to be well."

Her hand covered his on Gracie's back for a moment, tracing a pattern there. Then she lifted his hand to her lips and kissed his palm gently.

"Oh Charles," she whispered and he could hear the smile that had replaced her tears. "Gracie's almost five months old. How long did you think it would be?"

If he didn't have an inkling of where this conversation was headed, he might have been offended by her teasing tone.

"I wasn't sure," he said, "but I didn't want to bother you. I mean, if you weren't ready. I wanted to give you all the time you needed." After the slightest of hesitations, he added, "I never want to hurt you, Elsie."

She pressed back against him again. "I'm ready. I have been for weeks at least. You only need ever have asked."

He growled now and pressed his lips to the back of her neck again, tongue flicking out to taste her skin. He pulled back quickly before he could be overwhelmed. "But not tonight," he said, "The storm. Gracie."

"Tomorrow night," she said, "I can ask Mrs. Molesley to watch Gracie."

She turned over in his arms to face him, so that Gracie was between them. He watched her chest with bold and open interest now as she began to nurse again on Elsie's other breast. His eyes roamed over the creamy curve of skin and his daughter eagerly nursing. It was fascinating.

"Does it hurt?" he surprised himself by asking out loud. She looked up at him and this close he could sense her smile. "No, it doesn't. I was a little sore at first, though."

"Beautiful," her eyes met his in the near darkness, and he wanted to kiss her so much that it hurt. So he did.

She pulled away from his lips, but tucked her head on his shoulder. "Tomorrow night."

The storm was nearly over now and as he watched, both of his girls were drifting off to sleep. In a moment, he would take Gracie to her crib but for now he contented himself with having much more in life than he would have ever dreamed. Smiling, he pressed his lips to her forehead and whispered, "Tomorrow night."


	12. An injury

_**I really didn't mean to tease. I didn't intend for this to turn out quite this way, but Charles and Elsie had other ideas. Forgive me for indulging myself and them.**_

Elsie hurried down the lane to their cottage. She hoped to be there before him. There were one or two things she wanted to do, although in reality he probably wouldn't mind. She smiled to herself. Dear, sweet man.

Thank goodness for Mrs. Molesley's perception. She'd offered to keep Gracie weeks ago. Elsie's relief was more than worth the knowing smile she'd received when she agreed this morning to take her up on her offer.

Opening her front door, Elsie was brought up short by the sight of her husband with his trousers around his ankles, leaning over the sink and holding a cloth to his thigh.

"Elsie!" he exclaimed and dropped the cloth to the floor. He bent quickly in an effort to grab at his trousers but cried out sharply. His leg buckled under him, and he was suddenly on his knee, grimacing.

"Charles?" she crossed to him quickly and put her hand on his back. "What's happened?"

He turned to her, grimacing again. "Nothing of consequence. If you'll just give me a moment, I'll, um…" He gestured to his trousers. "I can get decent. I didn't think you would be back so soon."

She took his arm and scoffed, "Nothing of consequence? Let me help you, Charles."

When he hesitated, she added, "I am your wife."

He turned to meet her eyes with a rueful smile. "You are at that, but I'm afraid I'm a poor husband."

She met his eyes squarely, "You're the best husband I've ever had."

His eyes crinkled in understanding, and he nodded. With a sigh and slump of his shoulders, he turned to give her a glimpse of a large, angry red mark on his thigh with tinges of blue, just below the edge of his pants.

"Charles! What happened?" Without thinking, she reached out to brush the edge of his wound.

He tensed and caught her wrist before she could touch him. His eyes met hers, and her cheeks heated.

His voice was low and his gaze was now on her lips. "It was a colt, one with quite a kick."

"A colt?" she asked, eyes fixed now on the tongue that was wetting his dry lips.

He nodded, "Um, yes, it, um, kicked…"

She leaned forward to press her lips to his. He released her wrist so that he could wrap his arm around her to pull her closer. Her breath caught and she pulled back anxiously. He shifted so that he could reach for her but pulled away with a gasp of pain.

She put her hand on his cheek and said, "Let me help you to the chair. I'll find some salve."

"Salve. Yes, salve would be good," he answered vaguely, "I was just trying to put a cool compress on it."

She smiled into his dilated eyes and, with his hand on the sink to pull himself up and her arm under his, together they managed to get him settled into a kitchen chair.

When she started to step away from him, he caught her hand in his, "I'm afraid I've ruined our plans."

She traced her fingers over his hand but broke away from his intense gaze. She laughed nervously, "I don't know about that. You're already sitting here in naught but your pants. Unless that colt kicked you…" Her eyes darted down to his lap.

"No!" he said, "That is very much intact. A few inches north though…"

"Then, thank goodness for those inches," she said, eyes drifting away from his again and cheeks warming.

He laughed and said, "Yes, I suppose I should be grateful she didn't have better aim."

"She?"

"Mmm, that Scottish filly," he said, ruefully. "She's always been feisty. I was a bit distracted today, and she got the better of me."

She found the salve and then laid a towel on the floor so she could kneel before him. "Distracted?"

His hand clenched on the table, and he swallowed quickly before gesturing vaguely toward the bedroom with his head, "Yes, distracted. I've been distracted most of the day, actually. Elise, love, you shouldn't do that. I can tend my own wound."

She had some of the salve on a cloth now and hesitated only a moment before putting her free hand on his knee to calm him. She murmured, "Let me do this for you, my husband. It's my right to care for you."

He nodded, and she started to smooth the salve gently over his rapidly forming bruise. As she did so, the evidence that he was definitely not injured elsewhere grew rapidly as well.

He cleared his throat, and she looked up to see him gazing at her with hooded eyes. He swallowed again and said hoarsely, "That burns a bit, but it already feels better. Maybe…"

She was torn between the urge to pull away or to inch her hand higher on his thigh. Shaking her head to bring her thoughts under control, she grasped at the merest thread, "Yes, it's witch hazel. Good for bruises. I always kept some…before…" Her voice cracked, and she blinked rapidly to dispel the memories that threatened.

He caught her cheek in his hand, thumb stroking over her lower lip as he urged her to look up at him again. "You'll never have need of that with me," he said seriously.

She pressed her cheek into his palm and nodded. She knew that; more than that truly. Looking up, she met his eyes and smiled. Dear, sweet man.

He licked his lips again and cleared his throat with a near groan. "Are you finished?" he asked.

"Yes, but we should leave that for a time, and we should wash it off before we… That is, it would burn a bit. It might be uncomfortable if it were to get in certain places." Her cheeks were positively flaming now.

"I see," he cut her off and then glanced around the room anxiously searching for a distraction. He found it readily enough. "Do I smell stew?"

She nodded and leaned back on her heels, gathering the towel and salve before she stood. "Mutton stew. I thought something simple would be best." She smiled and leaned toward him conspiratorially, "Although we'll have to do without pudding. I burned the apple tart."

He tutted. "You burned apple tart," he asked in mock horror and added, "Were you distracted perhaps?"

She lifted an eyebrow at his teasing but bit back her retort. "You should pull up your trousers." Before she turned away, she smiled, "But, yes, I was a bit distracted today."

He laughed and caught her hand, drawing her so that she stood between his legs. She could feel him, hot and hard against her thigh. He kissed her, and it was nothing like any kiss she'd ever had before. It was full of desire and love and a deep need. Drawn into the depth of the kiss, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned closer. He shifted his legs farther apart to draw her closer, press himself tighter against her. A sharp grunt of pain escaped, and he pulled back with a grimace.

Looking at him with concern, she asked, "It hurts so much then?"

He sighed ruefully, "Only when I move, and I had planned to do a bit of moving tonight."

Tenatively, she brushed his lips lightly with her own, "Only a bit?"

"Perhaps more than a bit," he whispered and kissed the angle of her jaw.

She hummed in appreciation and murmured, "We should, um, give the medicine some time to work. We'll eat and then perhaps…"

"There's one problem, Mrs. Carson," he said, teasing tone now back in his voice.

"Yes, Mr. Carson," she said, caressing the back of his neck lightly.

He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. "Mmmm. If you don't step away, I won't be able to pull my trousers up."

She moved away from him reluctantly to wash the salve off her hand. Behind her, she heard him stand with difficulty, and his stifled grunt of pain. As much as she wanted to rush to his aid, she knew he'd likely not appreciate her help. Forcing herself not to turn around, she moved to the stove and spooned out two healthy servings of stew.

By the time she turned back to him, he had his trousers up and had poured two glasses of beer.

He leaned on the back of his chair and waited until she sat before sinking down gratefully.

She smiled at him sympathetically and waited for him to take the first bite. As always, he gratified her by smiling and saying, "The very best mutton stew I've ever had."

"That is what you said last time," she said.

"And it was true last time as well," he answered. Their nightly ritual over, both tucked in and ate in silent companionship.

After several bites, she decided to voice the thought that was flitting around her mind, "We could wait." At his look of disappointment, she hurried on, "Not for long. Just a night or two. Long enough for you to heal."

He twirled his fork thoughtfully and studied his plate. "Gracie is with Mrs. Molesley tonight, though."

Her lips turned down, "I know, and I'm not sure I could ask again so soon. We'd just have to be quiet. We would have to be next time anyway. I mean, it's not as if we could ask her to keep her every time. She's kind, but I can't ask her to keep Gracie three or four times every week."

Charles's eyes snapped up sharply to meet hers and his mouth slackened. "Three or four times a week?"

Her cheeks warmed. "Or not. We wouldn't have to…"

"No, no, that would be good. I mean, I would like…" He stopped and took a deep breath before speaking more calmly. "Elsie, what I mean to say is that I would welcome the opportunity to love you as often as I am capable and you desire, but perhaps we should concentrate on tonight."

"Perhaps we should," her cheeks warmed again, and she smiled down at her plate.

She heard him set his fork down and looked up to see his eyes on her. Gentle eyes. Loving eyes. Hungry eyes.

"Tonight," he began, and then stretched his hand out to cover her trembling one. "Tonight, if you will permit me, I would like to finish this wonderful stew, clear the plates, and then take you to our bed. Once we are there, I would like to show you to the best of my ability just how very, very much that I love you."

She turned her hand over under his and said quietly, "I would like that, Charles." Then remembering his earlier words, she corrected herself, "I would desire that."


	13. A night

_**Sorry for the delay of this chapter. I was distracted by my OTP getting married! That and I find smut extraordinarily hard to write.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, but I do love them and plan to return them when finished.**_

After washing off the salve, he locked the front door and checked that the windows were secure before limping to the bedroom. Grimly, he thought his slow progress would likely give her the time she'd clearly wanted. There was pain with every step but much less than there had been before she soothed it with her salve. Stupid colt. He corrected himself. The colt was merely doing what high-spirited colts do. Stupid man for not paying attention. Then he remembered who awaited him in the next room and wondered how he'd been able to accomplish anything today at all.

She could feel the change in the air even before she heard the door open. Turning from her seat in front of the dressing table, she watched him walk into the room, steady tread now interrupted with the slightest limp.

"It's better?" she asked, studying his face carefully.

His eyes were fixed on the hair that she was brushing. He'd never seen it loose before, only pinned up or neatly corralled into a braid. It was wavy and at least a dozen different shades of red. "Much better," he answered, but walked toward the bed and sat down on the edge, so that he could watch her. "I think I might do better sitting though."

She studied his eyes in the mirror as he watched her finish brushing her hair and decided there was naught there but love and desire. Taking a moment, she thanked Providence that they had found each other. He sat with legs apart, and asked gently, "Will you come to me wife? Or will you make a poor injured man walk to you?"

Making her smile was one of his greatest pleasures, and he was not disappointed now. The shy smile that he knew would forever be reserved for him was on her face as she walked to stand between his parted thighs. His hands went to her waist and hers went to his shoulders before she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. He caught her upper lip between his and sucked lightly but waited for her to deepen the kiss if she wished it. She did.

Opening her mouth, she tentatively touched her tongue to the line of his mouth. He hummed in pleasure, and his hands went from her waist to her bottom, drawing her tight against his groin. She gasped. He was as hot and hard as he had been in the kitchen, if not more. Instead of pulling away this time, she pressed herself closer.

He pulled his head away from hers, not wanting to lose control. Kissing in a line along her jaw, he tasted the area behind her left ear that had been one part occupying his imagination today. She hummed in pleasure and tilted her head so that he had better access to the softness of her neck. After a moment, he lifted his head to look into her eyes.

She would have been disappointed, if he had not whispered with awed devotion, "I do love you Elsie Carson." Taking his face in her hands, she pressed a kiss first to his forehead and then to his lips.

"And I love you, Charles Carson."

Watching her eyes for any hesitation, he lifted his hands to undo the buttons of her nightdress. Pressing kisses to each inch of skin as it was revealed; he soon pushed the nightdress off her shoulders and took a moment to admire her bared breasts. Cupping one in each hand, he pressed kisses to her curves.

She drew in a quick breath, "Charles, perhaps you shouldn't…"

He smiled against the side of her breast, "Don't worry, love, I've no plans to thieve from our Gracie."

She wrapped her arms around him and drew his head to her chest. She couldn't help the tears of joy that sprang to her eyes, "Our Gracie."

He drew back and cupped her cheek with one hand so that he could look into her eyes. "She is, you know, ours I mean. What I mean to say is that if we were blessed, after tonight or another night, there would be no difference. You do know that, don't you?"

"I do, my dear sweet man," she said, leaning into him and kissing his lips again.

She inadvertently pressed against the bruise on his thigh and a quick jab of pain jolted through it. He managed not to grunt, but she must have felt the tightening of his lips in a grimace. She started to pull away. He drew her back but toward his left side and away from his bruised thigh.

"You're hurting," she said, pushing gently against his chest.

"Not enough to keep me from loving you," he said, "but perhaps it would be easier if we lie down."

She lifted her eyebrows, "And will you wear your shirt and trousers to bed?"

The corner of his lip lifted in a smile. "I don't think I'll need them, will I?"

In answer, she lifted her hands to first loosen his neck cloth and then then buttons of his shirt. She traced the muscles that were revealed to her with her knuckles and then worked her fingers through the smattering of dark hair on his chest. His breath caught. She looked up anxiously.

"Have I hurt you?"

"Far from it," he said, his eyes darkened now with desire. He stood and the only sign of his pain was a tightening of his jaw as he clenched his teeth. Quickly, he finished unbuttoning his shirt and shrugged it from his shoulders, then his hands went to the buttons on his trousers. As he removed his trousers and pants in one motion, she pushed her nightdress to the floor. She held her breath for a moment fighting the urge to cover herself while his eyes trailed down her body, over her full breasts and the loose skin of her abdomen to the triangle of auburn curls. When his gaze met hers again, if anything they were more full of love and devotion than before.

She let her gaze wander then; from his sturdy legs with the angry bruise to his erection standing proudly from the dark curls at its base, over the soft curve of his belly to the broad chest. Finally, her eyes settled on the well-healed scars of his neck; testament of the deep love he felt for her. She stepped forward almost involuntarily to press her lips to those marks; lifting herself on her toes as he leaned down toward her once he realized her intention. She placed tiny kisses along those marks before he shifted his head to capture her lips with his. His erection and her breasts were caught between them, and he groaned into her mouth.

She took a half step back while he lifted the blanket so that she could lie down. Turning back toward him, she held out her hand to welcome him when he settled beside her, careful to lie on his left side.

His hand trailed down her side and then through the dark auburn patch at the juncture of her thighs. She was already wet with desire, but the feel of him exploring, seeking with gentle fingers between her folds and then inside her sliding and caressing had her breathing fast and shallow.

"Charles," she said, "quickly. Later we can go slowly, but now quickly please."

He nodded and shifted so that his body was over hers. She opened her legs to welcome his weight between them. As long as she lived, she thought she'd never forget the soft sigh of pleasure he gave as he entered her for the first time. For a moment, they were still, taking time to accustom themselves to this new sensation. Then he began to move, careful to keep most of his weight on his hands and his left leg. The pleasure built quickly for her after the anticipation of last night and today. As she cried out in pleasure, she could feel him shudder against her.

She would have welcomed his sturdy weight, but instead he moved to lie on his left side, curling his arm around her and drawing her close.

"I love you Elsie," he said, quietly and seriously. "I know that you think I've given you much, but I've a family now that I never imagined that I would have. That you've entrusted yourself and Gracie to me overwhelms me."

There was no answer that she could give other than to kiss the tears from his eyes and press her lips to his as she whispered answering words of love against them.

Quietly, they drifted off to sleep in each other's arms.


	14. A morning

_**So here's my problem. I've been looking at my stories with the intention of finishing the unfinished ones. The original plan was just to put an epilogue on this one. The problem is that the 'short epilogue' turned into several chapters, and I'm still not done. I know that I'm just indulging myself and no one else might want to read it, but that's ok.**_

 _ **A brief synopsis so you don't have to go back and read thirteen chapters-Charles is an executioner in early to mid-19th century England (not sure of the exact date). He's very good at his job until he is tasked with executing a young woman who killed her husband. The catch is that the young woman is pregnant and her execution is delayed until she has her baby. She's Scottish with red hair, blue eyes, and a fiery disposition that quickly steals Charles' heart. Through multiple improbabilities worthy of Julian Fellowes himself, Elsie is released on condition that she move to Yorkshire with a new husband who will be responsible for her. Needless to say if AU ain't your thing, you should probably stay away from this story. Chapter 14 picks up the morning after Charles and his bride of four months have just made love for the first (and second) time. If you want to know why they waited so long, you'll have to go back and read the previous chapters.**_

Elsie woke to the front door closing and reached over drowsily for Charles but her hand met merely an empty bed. Had he left without even waking her? Then she heard movement in the front room, and her heart pounded in her chest. Charles had left and there was a strange someone in her home, and she was lying here just as she'd went to sleep without a stitch of clothing on.

Then she heard Gracie's cry and Charles' deep rumbling voice soothing her, "Shh. Your Mum's right here, love. Just let me get my boots off and I'll take you to your breakfast."

The door to their bedroom opened, and Charles entered with Gracie working her way toward a full-fledged wail. She sat up and held out her arms for her daughter, the blanket dropping to her hips. Gracie latched on immediately and began nursing eagerly.

He smiled at her, a very satisfied smile. She could forgive him that after last night. It had been wonderful. Looking around, he spotted her dressing gown which he settled over her shoulders before sitting on the edge of the bed. "Have you been awake long?"

"Just now," she answered with a smile just as satisfied as his own, "when I heard you in the front room." She chose to forgo mentioning the moment of panic that she had. "I must have been very tired after last night."

He looked abashed, "I shouldn't have awakened you last night. I didn't think at the time. You were just... And I..."

She reached out her hand to brush his arm, "No, that was wonderful. Very nice." She blushed, "You can wake me anytime, well, perhaps almost anytime."

His cheeks reddened as well, and his hand dropped to the bed, tracing a pattern there. "I won't make a habit of it. I don't want to bother you."

Her hand dropped to cover his, "Charles," When he was looking at her, she continued, "I like how you bother me. The second time was wonderful, and we've waited so long. We have much to make up for."

His smile returned still satisfied, and just a bit rueful. To turn the conversation, she asked, "Why did you go to fetch Gracie?"

"I was awake, and I thought you might be tired. And also, well, I've noticed that in the mornings you seem, well, almost uncomfortable so I thought Gracie should be home for her breakfast."

"Thank you for that."

Then his smile broadened, and he leaned back on the pillows beside her, "I suppose that I also thought since you took her last night, I should endure the teasing today."

She couldn't keep the amusement from her voice, "Was it very bad?"

"Oh, Mrs. Molesley was fine," he rolled his eyes, "Joseph, however, had heard about the colt."

"Well the colt certainly didn't interfere," she said and then added softly, "Either time."

His smile changed from satisfied to proud, and he leaned over to kiss her softly on the mouth and Gracie on the back of the head. Then he pushed himself off the bed, saying, "I'll cook breakfast for us while Gracie finishes hers. I think we've earned bacon and eggs, don't you?"

She looked at the brightening window in confusion, " __It's after dawn. Don't you need to go?"

"Ah, that," he said, "After the colt, I was ordered to stay home to heal. It's my half day anyway. So, I'm afraid you'll have me underfoot today." He tried to keep his grin under control, but she could see that his delight with the situation nearly matched her own.

"Well, you certainly deserve it since they've kept you working most of your half days..."

Her voice trailed off as a hint of guilt colored his features. He rolled his shoulders and cleared his throat, "Yes, well, should I fix a bit of porridge for Gracie?" He started toward the kitchen with a slight limp.

She stared after him, delight fading. What was he hiding? Something about his half days. Had they not kept him working? Where else would he have been? There was only one reason that came traitorously to mind for him to deceive her about his half days. She supposed that she shouldn't have been surprised. It had been four months, after all. Could any man be expected to wait that long? She shouldn't have been surprised, but she was sorely disappointed.

 ** _To be continued (soon)_**


	15. A Breakfast

**_Thank you for the response to this story. I hope it continues to please._**

 ** _Breakfast_**

Charles was just putting two plates on the table and had turned to fetch the tea when Elsie brought Gracie from the bedroom. He was a little disappointed to see that she had changed into a day dress, but then mentally chided himself for hoping they would spend more of the day in bed. She was tired for goodness sake. He should get himself under control and leave her alone.

Once he'd poured the tea and Elsie had Gracie in her high chair, they sat down to breakfast. He looked up at her with the same broad smile, but it was dampened when he noticed how subdued she looked.

Her eyes were sadder than he'd seen them since iron bars separated them. He started hesitantly, trying to puzzle out possible causes, "I know there's that one cupboard door that is loose. I had thought to fix that today. Are there any other small jobs that I could do? Nothing that would require too much standing, just for today. I can still feel the effects of that colt." He offered another rueful smile.

She smiled at him, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. What had happened? They were in the bedroom. She was happy. She wanted him to bother her. She didn't mind that he'd awakened her. She thought last night was wonderful. What could have happened between there and here? Was she that unhappy to have him home today? He was so caught up in his musings that he didn't hear the first part of her comments.

"...and today's my baking day. And, of course, washing out the nappies is a daily job."

"I could do that," he volunteered for the worst possible task in hopes of lifting her sadness, "I mean, it'd be no worse that what I deal with every day in the stables."

She smiled again, and her eyes were a little bit lighter, but only a little bit.

He looked down and concentrated on his food, turning the events of the morning over in his head. She was happy until he told her he would be here all day. His stomach sank. Perhaps there was someone who visited her during the day. No, that wasn't quite right. She was happy until she mentioned the other half days he'd not been here. He lifted his eyes to study the top of her head which was bowed over her own food. Her shoulders were slumped. Realization dawned. She thought he was visiting someone else. He needed to correct that right away.

"Actually, mentioning the stables, there's something I need to tell you," he said carefully. The way she turned her head away for a moment and swallowed confirmed his suspicions. "I haven't been quite truthful about my half days."

Her head snapped up, "Charles, there's no need..."

He cut her off gently but firmly with imploring eyes, "There is every need, Elsie. I want you to know where I've been those days. They haven't been keeping me at the stables."

Her hands were twisting her napkin, and he couldn't bear to see her so upset any longer.

"I've been spreading manure," he said and was pleased to see her drop her napkin and her eyes widen in surprise. "You see, we muck out the stables every day. Well, the lads do anyway, and it is just there in a big pile. Black gold it is, really." When he saw her grin, he knew that she believed him. "They use some on the home farm, but they could never use all of it. So, I went to Joseph and Bill and offered it to them in exchange for a share of their vegetables come this fall. I have to spread it for them, and it's smelly work. But it will be worth it to have those fresh vegetables free of charge-peas, cabbages, potatoes, whatever you'd like. Think of how much we'll save. I wanted to surprise you. I'm sorry that it's kept me from you, but I think that with planting starting soon, I won't be needed. So, I'll have at least some of my half days here, if you want me. I could always try to find other work for those days."

Her head was buried in her hands and her shoulders were shaking with laughter, at least he hoped it was laughter. He paused to check the temperature of the porridge and tried to give Gracie a bite. He was hopeful when she closed her lips around the tiny spoon, but then she pushed it out on her chin. When he looked back to Elsie he saw that she was smiling, eyes and all.

She wiped the porridge away with her napkin and said, "She's likely too full to want much. We'll give her some at luncheon and tea." She bit her lip. "Why do you wash outside those days?"

He lifted his eyebrows at her, "I didn't think you'd appreciate me bringing that smell in here."

"I thought perhaps you were... And that you need to wash away another woman's scent."

He cut her off, "I realized that." He addressed himself to Gracie, "Gracie, your mum is a very silly woman. Most beautiful woman in all of Yorkshire, and she thinks I'd waste my time with anyone else. We need to be sure that she knows that will never be the case."

Gracie gurgled in agreement, and he smiled at Elsie.

"Charles, it's so long since we were married. Most men would..."

"Mrs. Carson," he said carefully, "I am happy and tickled and bursting with pride that you consented to be my wife. I want to live as closely with you as two people can for however long we have left. I do not want anyone else, ever."

She stretched her hand across the table and gripped his tightly. He pushed his chair back and stepped around the table to pull her to her feet. Very carefully, he took her face in his hands and pressed a kiss to her forehead and then to her lips before he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to his chest.

To be continued (soon)


	16. A nap

**_An afternoon together._**

Elsie watched from the kitchen as Charles played with Gracie, who was lying on a blanket in the sitting area, rolling from her back to her belly and lifting herself up on her arms. True to his word, he'd fixed the cupboard door and washed out the nappies. Now he was doing her the great favor of keeping Gracie occupied so that she could make bread without interruption. Not that he seemed to mind a bit, she thought indulgently as she watched him making faces at their daughter and chuckling softly.

Just then, Gracie rolled from her belly to her back and hit her head on the floor with a thunk. She began to cry immediately. Charles scooped her into his arms and stood with only a little difficulty. He carried her to the kitchen shushing her and bouncing her on the way.

Gracie quietened quickly enough that Elsie felt sure that she was more scared than hurt. Then, she started to nuzzle into Charles' chest. He smoothed his hand over her head. "There's no mark. I think she'll be fine."

As if to prove him wrong, Gracie started to cry again in earnest, twisting in his arms and arching toward Elsie. He looked up in surprise. "Or maybe not. She might need some of your salve if you think it'd be safe."

Elsie wiped her hands on a towel and took Gracie from him. She quietened again and started nuzzling against her chest. "I don't think that will be needed. She's more hungry and tired than hurt I think. If she can just wait until I'm finished with the bread, I'll nurse her and she can have her nap."

Charles' eyes snapped up to hers, and she could read her own wish there for what might happen while Gracie napped.

He glanced over her shoulder, "I could finish with the bread while you deal with Gracie. Then perhaps we might nap too."

She smiled and blushed, "That would be good. I'd like a nap very much."

He grinned in response to her blush and bent forward to press a kiss to her mouth.

She pulled her lips from his with a smile. "You just need to divide the dough into the pans, and cover it with a cloth. Then we'll need to give it time to rise."

His grin widened, "I don't think it needs any time to rise, love."

"Charles!" She admonished, "I meant the bread."

He bent forward to kiss her again and swatted her bottom as she moved toward the bedroom. "Get her down for her nap, and we'll see what will rise."

She called back over her shoulder as she went through the door, "The bread."

He waggled his eyebrows at her, "The nap."

Charles had just finished cleaning the kitchen and putting another lump of coal on the fire to keep it nice and cozy when Elsie stepped through the bedroom door shutting it very quietly behind her.

He lifted his eyebrows in question, "The nap?"

She nodded and looked past him to the counter, "The bread?"

"See for yourself," he said, stepping aside and gesturing toward the two covered pans near the stove.

She lifted the edge of the cloth and saw that he'd neatly divided the dough between the two pans. One loaf might have been a bit larger than the other, and they weren't quite as smoothly shaped as she would have liked, but she'd never complain.

He stepped up behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist, pressing himself against her bottom and bending down to kiss the back of her neck.

"It just needs some time to rise," he said, amusement in his voice as he echoed her words from earlier.

She pressed the hand that encircled her tight against her belly and leaned back in his arms.

"The bread does at least," she agreed with an answering amusement in her own voice.

He turned her in his arms and pressed her against the counter, brushing her lips with gentle kisses. "Will it" he kissed her jaw "take very long" he trailed a kiss to just in front of her left ear "for the bread to rise?" He nuzzled into the spot just behind and below her left ear, kissing and sucking the skin lightly, teasing it with his tongue.

She gasped and first tilted her head away to give him better access then turned her head to capture his mouth with hers, sucking lightly on his bottom lip. Stretching her arms up, she grasped the back of his neck, tangling her fingers in the curls there to draw his head closer to her level.

"A very long time," she smiled against his lips.

He pushed against her more firmly and tore his mouth away from hers to begin another relentless assault on her neck.

She sighed, and he could feel the vibration through her neck, encouraging him to lift his hands to the front of her dress and work buttons loose. As he smoothed the fabric away, he trailed kisses farther down her neck to her collarbone, dipping his tongue into the hollow there.

His right leg was aching, and one part of his brain knew it would be best to lie or at least sit down, but right now, he wanted nothing more than to lift her to the countertop and sink deep inside her.

When his hands moved to her waist, she must have guessed his intention, because she pulled back in alarm, "Charles, we're right in front of the window."

He pushed her dress farther down, revealing the top of a rounded breast, he pressed kisses there and then moved his lips to the hollow between her breasts. "The window over the back garden," he chided gently, "who on earth would..."

They both jumped as they saw a head peek around the edge of the window from the corner of their eyes.

Charles dropped his hands from her dress and turned to look fully out the window, seeing Joseph _Bloody_ Molesley turning hurriedly away.

"Bloody! Blooming! Ha..."

"Charles!"

He released her and stalked toward the back door as best as his aching right leg would allow, ready to jerk it open and...

"Charles, remember he's our neighbor," she called after him. He harrumphed and took another step, "And all those vegetables." He turned back to her with a grimace and took the final step to the door. Just as he was ready to jerk open the door, she said, "And they kept Gracie last night." He sighed and pulled the door open much gentler than he'd intended.

"Joseph!" He called after the man who had already started away from the cottage, likely terrified of Charles' wrath.

He forced himself to moderate his tone, "Was there something you needed Joseph?"

The man flinched slightly, "Oh no, I don't want to be a bother."

Too late for that, Charles thought grumpily, but he said, "It's no bother Joseph." He searched his mind, "We were just baking bread." And I was just kneading my wife's breasts, he thought wryly.

Molesley's eyebrows rose, and he inclined his head, "Oh well then," he began nervously, trying to peek around Charles into the house. Charles shifted so that his bulk filled the doorway. Neighbor or not, this man wasn't seeing his wife with her dress unbuttoned.

"It's ac-actually Mrs. C-Carson that I n-needed," he stuttered out.

"Mrs. Carson?" Charles frowned, still not moving from the doorway. What would Joseph be needing Elsie for? Then he felt the woman in question tug at his arm to move him out of the way. He resisted for a moment, still frustrated by the interruption, before shifting to allow room for her in the doorway. A quick sideways glance told him that Elsie had not just re-buttoned her dress, she had smoothed her hair down, which in turn made him realize that his was likely a bit mussed.

"Yes, Joseph?" She asked, smiling pleasantly but keeping her hand on Charles's arm while standing just behind and beside him. There was no mistaking the message she was giving him. She was his, completely. His shoulders relaxed.

"What is it you needed?"

"Actually, it's not for me," the man began again nervously. Charles took pity on him and stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter.

Joseph nodded his thanks, and, more importantly, Elsie rewarded him with a warm smile. Charles relaxed further and leaned back against the counter to rest his now throbbing leg. He crossed his arms over his chest, though. He was not going to offer this man tea. His generosity didn't extend that far. Not today.

Joseph continued, "It's for M-Mrs. Molesley, or rather for Andrew, I s-suppose."

Charles studied him, even more confused. What on earth could a babe of ten months want?

"He's getting more teeth and Phyllis, I mean Mrs. Molesley, w-wondered if you'd have more of that tincture for his gums. It h-helped so much last time."

Elsie smiled in relief, "Of course I have. I just made some for Gracie yesterday and there's more than enough. Going over to a cupboard, she picked up a small bottle and then started looking for something to pour part of it's contents into. Charles noted with some amusement that she seemed a bit flustered. He was glad he wasn't the only one who was frustrated.

As Elsie rummaged through the cupboards looking for a bottle, Joseph must have felt he needed to fill the silence. "It's looking like it's going to rain. You might want to bring the nappies in off the line. I could help if you'd like."

Elsie and Charles both turned to him in alarm, "No!"

Elsie recovered first, "That is, you've done more than enough what with the vegetables that Charles has told me about and keeping Gracie last night. That was very helpful."

Charles agreed but couldn't resist admonishing her with a lift of his eyebrows. If the smirk that Joseph was struggling to contain was any indication, he was in for no end of teasing tomorrow.

Elsie finally gave up on finding another container and just shoved the whole bottle of the tincture into Joseph's grasp. Charles clapped his hand on his shoulder and turned him to the door, "Well, there you have it. I hope it helps. You'd best get home before it rains."

He all but pushed Joseph out the door, shut it behind him, and clicked the lock in place before leaning back against it with a sigh.

"Where were we?"

She laughed, wholeheartedly, with shoulders heaving up and down, and an occasional snort. After a moment's hesitation, he started laughing as well as he pulled her into his arms.

"You," she sputtered between bursts of laughter, "were telling me no one would ever come to the back window."

He lifted his eyebrows at her, enjoying her mirth. Then he grasped her hips and pulled her tight against him again. "Is that what you remember? Because I seem to remember we were just about here." He began to attack her neck in earnest, sucking and nipping at the soft skin.

She gasped and her arms snaked around his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair again and pressing him closer to her neck. "Yes, just about there," she sighed. "Except there was something about my dress."

He chuckled, "You mean that I had it half unbuttoned?" He lifted his hands to work the first few buttons loose.

"Mmm," she agreed and lifted her lmouth to his again, sucking lightly on his bottom lip.

He pushed her gently back toward the bedroom door, "Should we go," he paused to pull her back to him for a hungry kiss, "to the bedroom like respectable adults?"

"Charles, there's nothing respectable about what I want to do with you." Her voice was husky with wanting him.

He groaned and pushed her against the bedroom door, pressing his whole length against her. "Do you _want_ me to take you on the kitchen counter woman?"

"I do," she nodded, "but not until we have thick curtains."

"Then the bedroom is our other option," he said, although privately he thought the front garden would do in a pinch.

She chewed her bottom lip. "Gracie's asleep in there. We'll have to be quiet."

"I can be quiet," he nodded, watching her with hooded eyes. At this point he would bark like a dog if she asked it.

"Charles," she warned.

"I can!" he insisted, then smirked, "Are you sure you can be quiet?"

He slipped his hand down to cup her bottom, and she yelped in surprise.

"Gracie does sleep very soundly," she said and caught his lips in another kiss before pulling him back through the bedroom door.

 ** _No more teasing, avoid the next chapter if you'd rather not have M-ness between mature people._**


	17. A nap (continued)

**_The 'nap'. A.K.A. Mild smut_**

After first checking to see that Gracie did indeed seem to be sleeping soundly and softly snoring, Charles laid Elsie down on the bed. He stood looking at her for a moment before settling between her thighs. The bed creaked loudly. They looked at each other in alarm. He bent to kiss her deeply on the lips. The bed creaked again. She glanced toward the crib. Gracie was still asleep. On another day or night, she might have been willing to chance it, but just now, she thought if they didn't make love because of another interruption, Charles would explode and she might internally combust.

He bent his head to whisper into her ear, the bed creaking again as he leaned down. "I have an idea. Stand for a moment."

She stood and with quick movements, he put the blankets and pillows on the floor. She smiled at him. Smart man. It would be hard on her back, but at least it would be quiet. He stepped back into her arms and caught her lips in another kiss. Not wanting to waste any more time, she started to unbutton his shirt and after a moment, he caught on and began working the rest of her dress buttons loose.

Having gotten a head start in the kitchen, he finished first and pushed her dress to the floor, pinning her arms behind her back for a moment. She stood before him in just her shift, and he smiled his appreciation, pulling her against his chest and kissing her again. She could feel the warmth of his chest through her shift and became even more aroused.

She needed him to stop delaying. For skin to touch skin. Her voice hoarser than she would have liked, she whispered, "Charles, please. Clothes off."

He smirked at her incoherence, and the thought crossed her mind that she should punish him for that. That thought fled, however, when he made quick work of the rest of her clothing and his.

Finally, they lay down together on the nest of blankets and pillows. It was not quite as hard as she'd expected. Perhaps her back wouldn't be too sore. Instead of settling between her thighs as she had hoped Charles lay beside her. She was disappointed for a moment before he began to kiss down her body, over her breasts quickly and perhaps a little regretfully, then to her belly, lingering for just a moment at her navel, before moving to the top of her right thigh. He parted her legs with his hands and then his breath was warming her center. Lifting her bottom in his hands, he used his thumbs to part her folds. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Could he kiss her there? Should he kiss her there? Then he did kiss her there, tongue smoothing along her folds, and any doubts fled. She never wanted him to stop. Forgetting herself, she moaned his name. He looked up at her in alarm and put one hand over her mouth. Yes, quiet. She needed to be quiet.

She drew one of his fingers into her mouth and sucked lightly on it in time to the pattern his tongue was making on her center. He moaned against her, and she could feel it through her entire body. His tongue was making patterns on her, flicking over her bud, delving deep inside and then curling upward, lapping at her, tasting her. With astounding speed, she reached her peak and was trembling under his lips and hands. He slowly stopped, withdrawing almost reluctantly from her center and placing gentle kisses on her inner thigh as he did so.

He lifted himself to lie beside her once more, and she curled against him. "Why did you..."

"Because I wanted to taste you," he whispered, "and to bring you pleasure."

Her heart swelled with love for him. She kissed him deeply then whispered, "And can I taste you?"

His eyes opened wider and he swallowed convulsively before answering back as softly as his rumbling voice would allow, "If you wish, but not now. Now I need to be inside you."

She nodded but then he surprised her by lying on his back. He took her hips to guide her over him, and she couldn't help asking. "Can we make love this way?"

"I'm not sure, but I've had almost ten months to dream of ways, and I don't want you to hurt your back." Her love-always protecting her. She bent forward to kiss him, needing to show him her love.

She reached down to grasp him and bring him to her entrance before sinking slowly down, his hands on her hips guiding her all the way.

When he was buried deep inside her, she lifted herself experimentally, sliding up and then down his length. She realized that not only could they make love this way, it felt wonderful, glorious even. He stretched her in different ways in this position and rubbed different spots. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment in pure ecstasy for just a moment until she realized she wanted to see him, to know that he was enjoying her as much as she was enjoying him. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his breathing was rapid and harsh. She hoped she wasn't hurting him. Then, his eyes opened, and she could see what could only be described as pure rapture.

She lifted herself and again slowly sank down his length, as she did she watched his eyes close in pleasure. It was fascinating to watch his eyes open as she rose and close as she slid down, his hands were still on her hips guiding her and urging her to increase her speed. She resisted, enjoying watching his pleasure too much to rush. Her own peak was building, however, and she gradually began to increase her pace. Then, just as she felt herself reach her peak, he curled into her, raising his hips to thrust up as she pressed down. She rode the waves of her own pleasure as he almost convulsively continued to push into her. She collapsed against his chest, and he fell back on the floor, missing the pillow and hitting his head sharply. They lay like that for a long time, panting and struggling to regain their breath.

After a while he turned so that they were lying side by side facing each other. He smoothed his hand over her cheek and leaned forward to press a gentle but lingering kiss on her lips. She pressed her forehead to his. "I suppose Gracie is a sound sleeper," she still spoke softly, not quite willing to risk waking her yet.

He chuckled. "I suppose she is. Was it good for you that way?" His eyes watched her anxiously.

"Oh yes," she breathed out and he smiled in relief at her enthusiasm. "Have you really been dreaming about it for ten months?"

He nodded, "Not quite from the first, but almost. I told myself that I shouldn't think of you that way. That it wasn't proper. My waking self listened, but I could never quite chase you from my dreams."

"From when we touched for the first time?" He nodded, and she smiled back, "For me too."

He leaned forward again to kiss her and asked, "You've dreamed of different ways?"

She shook her head, "No, just of you holding me like this, kissing me, loving me. I wish we hadn't waited so long. How do people get things done? I just want to lie here with you and do that as often as we can."

He groaned. "We have to eat. Which means I'll have to get up and go to work eventually."

She smiled, "But not today."

"Not today," he shook his head, "I take it you'd not mind me to spend my half days here."

"I don't think I'd mind at all," she sighed, "especially if you wash out the nappies." She bit her lip, "And of course, we'll need a nap on those days."

He snorted a laugh and leaned forward to kiss her again, "I think I'd like to nap with you as often as we can." He shifted uncomfortably, "We should probably get up from this hard floor. We can lie together and talk just as easily in the bed, if you'd like."

"I'm not quite sure I can move just yet," she said.

He pulled her against his chest, no doubt fully prepared to lie here together for as long as she would like, no matter how sore his back was. Then, the choice was taken from them when they began to hear noises from the crib. Snuffling, whimpering, rustling.

"She's waking up," Charles said, a little regretfully.

Elsie groaned softly, "That she is." With an effort, she pushed herself to her feet, and searched for her undergarments and dress. Charles did the same, and she found herself looking at him with interest. Her husband was a handsome man, broad shoulders, thick hair, long legs. He noticed her looking at him and lifted an eyebrow in question. She shook her head, not quite ready to express those thoughts to him. He studied her for a moment and then continued to pull on his undergarments and trousers. He pulled on his undershirt, but tossed the other over a chair. It was her turn to give him a questioning look.

"You go put the bread in the oven, if it's had time to rise," he said, "I'll get our bed straightened and take care of Gracie. If you've nothing else to do today, we'll enjoy our afternoon of leisure."

"I've nothing else," she smiled, "The soup for our dinner is already simmering. The nappies are washed. The baking is nearly done. Anything else that needs doing can wait until my husband is at work. I'd rather spend my day with him."

"Then go quickly and come back just as quickly," he said, pushing her by her bottom toward the door. "I want to spend the rest of the afternoon with my family"

 ** _Blushing. Still to be continued (soon)_**


	18. A tincture

_**The next evening.**_

Charles's steps sped as he grew closer to his home. Home. He couldn't recall ever thinking of another place he'd lived as home. Not since he was a lad, and even then, home was something to run from not hurry towards.

He pushed the back door open, and his senses were overwhelmed. Warmth after the chill of the evening air engulfed him. The smell of cooking food made his stomach rumble. Best of all, he could hear laughter and see his wife and daughter playing peekaboo in the sitting room floor. As soon as he'd pulled off his boots and hung up his coat, he went to join them.

Settling on the floor beside Elsie, he leaned down to put his face close to Gracie's. Her eyes brightened in recognition, and she grabbed at his nose. He dodged her little hand and kissed her swiftly on the cheek. "Hullo, Gracie. Did you miss your Da today?"

"She did," Elsie said, "and her mum missed her nap."

He lifted his head enough to meet her eyes, "So did I." He caught her lips in a tender kiss. "Perhaps when Gracie goes to bed..."

"If the bed just wouldn't creak," she agreed ruefully, reminding him of how they had awakened Gracie last night, frustrating them both. At least they'd had an afternoon of lovemaking.

"Ah," he grinned, "as to that. Your husband has a plan."

"The back garden?" She asked, smiling.

"In a pinch," he agreed, "but no, I have a better idea," and he pulled a small jar from his pocket proudly.

Taking pity on her confusion, he explained, "Axle grease. Like we use on the carriages." She still looked a bit confused. "It's for the bed, to keep it from creaking."

"Do you think it will work?" She seemed skeptical.

He frowned, disappointed at her lack of enthusiasm. "It's worth a try."

She nodded. "It certainly is. Or perhaps we should just get thick curtains for the back window."

"We should get those anyway," he agreed, then thought perhaps he'd been a bit too forward, "I mean, in case we ever... That is, if you wanted..."

"If we ever bake bread together again, Mr. Carson?" It was her turn to grin. He found that he rather liked her teasing.

He waggled his eyebrows at her, "Exactly, Mrs. Carson."

She leaned forward to kiss his cheek, and then used his arm to push herself to her feet. "Tea's nearly ready. I just need to finish the vegetables and put the pudding in the oven. If you want to grease the bed, take Gracie to help. She'd like rolling around on the floor with you."

"Come on then, Gracie, let's see if we can make Mum and Da's bed quiet so you can sleep sound," he said and rose to his feet before gathering his daughter in his arms.

Elsie laughed as she was walking into the kitchen, "Oh, it's all for her is it?"

"Of course," he retorted, "Nothing's too good for my girl. Either of them."

Gracie did enjoy him lying on the floor on his back, stretching under the bed to apply grease to the joints. Somehow during the course of the day, she'd discovered that by rolling from her front to her back, she could maneuver herself quite well. Before he knew it, she was using his belly as a drum. When he moved to Elsie's side to put grease there, he lifted Gracie and flew her through the air to make her giggle before setting her on the floor on that side. He started under the bed, but bumped a basket. Pulling it out of his way, he saw it had a pair of his socks in it. Not wanting to pry, but unable to resist the temptation, he tugged out the socks and saw that they were in the process of being mended. He swallowed convulsively. No one, save his own Mum when he was very young, had ever mended his socks, or his anything. Settling down next to Gracie, he said, "Your Mum certainly takes good care of your Da, much better than I deserve." He finished applying the grease and then he put Gracie in the middle of the bed before bouncing it up and down a few times, making her giggle in delight. He grinned himself. No creak. Then, he scooped Gracie into his arms and returned to the kitchen to share his good news with Elsie.

She was putting chops and vegetables on two plates and already had porridge in a bowl for Gracie. She looked up as they entered and laughed, "Your hair, Charles Carson."

"What of it?" He asked trying to look up to his hairline.

"You look like you've been rolling around on the floor," she admonished and stepped closer to smooth the curl from his forehead.

He bent to brush his lips over hers and then waggled his eyebrows at her. "It was worth it. No creaks."

"None?" She asked.

"Not a one," he shook his head, "Gracie tried it out."

"Well, then it must be perfect," she said and turned to finish serving their tea.

He wrapped his free arm around her waist when she turned and leaned forward to whisper in her ear, "Thank you for mending my socks, Elsie." He couldn't quite keep his emotion from his voice.

She turned her head slightly to rub her cheek against his, "Shouldn't a wife take care of her husband?" She put one hand on the arm that encircled her and squeezed lightly. He hugged her tight against him and then released her. There'd be time for that later with a bed that didn't creak.

They sat down together and busied themselves with eating. She watched as he took the first bite. He smiled and said, "Best chop I've ever had."

She blushed and admonished him, "Not everything can be the best."

He looked at her seriously, "It is in our home." She looked up at his emphasis on the last word, and he wondered if she caught the significance.

"I'm sure it's not as good as your Mum's," she said.

His good cheer faded just a bit, "I'd not remember." She glanced up at him sharply, and he was reminded of how much of each other's stories they didn't know. "I left my Mum's house when I was 11."

"11?"

He shrugged and looked down at his plate before meeting her eyes again. "My Da died. Mum married another man. He didn't fancy feeding another man's son."

Her eyes widened, and she stretched out her hand to cover his. He accepted her comfort gratefully. She glanced at Gracie, and he read her thought. "Gracie's ours," he said, "At least as far as I'm concerned. I've said that before, but maybe now you know why I mean it."

She traced her fingers over his knuckles and slowly pulled her hand away so that they could continue eating. He finished his chop with relish, and fed Gracie while Elsie ate hers more slowly, savoring every bite. She took the pudding from the oven and spooned a small serving of apple crumble for herself and a much larger one for him into two bowls.

Gracie was chewing on her spoon, likely trying to soothe her gums, which reminded Charles of something he had meant to ask yesterday.

"What was in that tincture you gave Molesley?" He asked, then nodded toward Gracie, "It looks like she could use some tonight."

"I made more," she said, making as if to rise but Charles beat her to his feet. She nodded toward the counter, and he saw the small container sitting there.

He couldn't resist tweaking her a bit as he rose to get the tincture, "Too bad you couldn't find that bottle yesterday. I think Joseph was a bit surprised at your generosity when you shoved all you had in his hand just to get him out the door."

She looked up from the knot she was tying in her napkin. "I? I wasn't the one who nearly pushed him out the door and shut it in his face."

He handed her the bottle and watched with interest while she dipped the knotted napkin in the liquid to soak it throughly and then gave it to Gracie to chew. She glanced up at him, trying to contain her smile. "Was there much teasing today?"

"Not much," he said as he sat down again to enjoy his crumble. Struggling to contain his own mirth, he added, "I spent the morning sharpening knives."

"Charles!" She admonished, but joined him in laughter.

After a few more bites, he nodded toward Gracie who was now contentedly chewing on the napkin, "Quite the potion you have there. It certainly seems to have helped."

She didn't answer right away, and he looked from Gracie to her curiously. The smile had faded from her face, and she was looking down at her plate with her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

"Elsie?" He asked, not even trying to keep his concern from his voice, "What is it? What has you bothered?"

She looked up and gave him a not quite half smile, "What makes you think I'm bothered?"

He tucked in his chin, lifted his eyebrows, met her eyes squarely, and tapped his index finger against his bottom lip. She needn't think she could avoid telling him that easily.

She glanced at him and then looked away before turning back to meet his eyes, "You don't mind? The salves and the tinctures? The home remedies?"

He shook his head in confusion. "Of course not. If it helps, it helps. I think it's brilliant." Then he tried to recover a bit of their lost levity, "As long as Joseph doesn't come hunting one at the wrong time again."

Her lips tugged upward but then dropped just as quickly. She swallowed. "He called me a witch. It made him very angry." She paused, "It was the first time he was so angry. He broke the bottles, scattered the herbs in the dirt. He told me that I'd be burned if I kept making my potions. I didn't know. My Mum taught me..."

Rage. That was what it was. Charles felt pure rage. He took deep breaths through his nose. Elsie didn't need that now, even if it wasn't directed at her.

Stretching his hand across the table, he covered her trembling one, engulfing it his. Forcing himself to speak softly, he asked, "And how old were you?"

She swiped at a tear with her free hand. "I was 16 when I married."

He ground out, "16? And you were told that you'd be burned for just trying to help?" His grip tightened on hers. "It's a pity a man can only be killed once."

She gave him a watery smile and turned her hand over so that she could grip his tightly. "Thank you."

"I'm only sorry that I brought it up. We'll not talk of it again if it worries you so."

"Wintergreen, lemon balm, and chamomile," she said. He lifted his eyebrows in question and she continued, "That's what is in the tincture. I think the chamomile is to help with sleep."

"Ah," he smiled at her again, "I'm for anything that helps her sleep sound."

She nodded and turned back to her pudding but left her hand in his. She twirled her spoon in her bowl and squeezed his hand again to get his attention. "Do you think perhaps this spring we might plant a small garden? Just a few herbs for healing and for cooking."

He chewed slowly, savoring the sweetness of the pudding and her trust. "I can't see why not. Although, I'll have to admit that I've never had a green thumb. Will you forgive me if we've nothing but a bunch of brown plants?"

"You'll just need to bring some of your 'black gold'. I'll do the rest," she smiled again, eyes and all, and the heaviness on his heart lifted.

Once they'd finished their pudding, Elsie took Gracie to nurse and put her down for bed. Charles cleared the table and started the washing up.

As he washed the dishes, he let the mindless work take his mind away from his anger. His thoughts drifted to Elsie and how proud he was of her. Despite that man, she'd survived and been brave enough to bring Gracie into the world. He frowned. He wondered. Wondered if what he'd heard was true. Wondered if he dared ask her.

Glancing up as she clicked the bedroom door shut softly behind her, he thought he might get the chance to find out.

She stepped to his side and took the drying cloth in her hands.

"That didn't take long," he said, smiling.

She leaned toward him to brush his arm with her shoulder, "I suppose the chamomile helped."

He watched the dishes. Perhaps it might be easier if he couldn't see her eyes.

He began hesitantly, "Elsie, if you don't want to answer, you needn't."

Her hands paused on the dish she was holding. He continued, "I've heard that sometimes women..., that there are herbs that a woman could take if she didn't want..."

She turned to face him, putting her hand on his arm until he looked at her. She met his eyes, and he could almost read the answer there. She spoke softly, "Pennyroyal. If a woman didn't want a child, she could take a tea made of pennyroyal."

There was nothing for it now but to go on. "Did you..., did you consider, with Gracie?"

She swallowed convulsively, licked her bottom lip, and turned back to the dishes. A short nod was his answer.

Rage filled him again. Rage that she'd been faced with that choice. His mind was so clouded with anger that he almost missed her soft words.

"I had everything I needed, but I just couldn't. I wanted her. I wanted someone all my own to love. I thought I was being so selfish, wanting her," she said, voice trembling.

"Selfish?" He asked, "For wanting a child?"

"Selfish for bringing her into a home like that," she said. He couldn't help himself. He turned to her and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close.

"There's naught selfish about that," he said softly into her hair, "I only wish...I wish..."

"That you'd known me then?" She asked against his chest.

He shook his head. "That I could have met him. Just once. It would only have taken the once. When I think that he could have cost us our Gracie..."

She shook her head against his chest. "I couldn't, Charles, but do you see how someone might think a child would be better off not born than in a home like that?"

"It shouldn't be that way," he said, resting his chin on her head and feeling her stiffen so he explained himself, "Not that I would blame you or any woman, but no man should make his wife feel that way. It just shouldn't be."

He leaned back against the counter and pulled her against him, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She relaxed in his arms, pressing her cheek to his chest. He thought that he would be more than happy to stand like this for the rest of the night if she'd let him.

"Charles?" She said, pulling away slightly so that she could look up into his eyes.

"Hmmm?" He answered, mesmerized by the deep blue gaze that was fixed on him.

"I don't think we'll need pennyroyal in our garden."

 ** _Still to be continued. And yes, I know it doesn't fit canon, but this is AU and as far as I'm concerned Charles loves everything Elsie cooks because it's cooked with love. JF can stuff it on that one point at least._**


	19. A memory

**_A little time jump. About 6 months later. Gracie is 11 months old_** **.**

Elsie glanced at the still frustratingly closed back door for what must have been at least the tenth time in the last half hour. He had never been this late without sending one of the lads so that she wouldn't worry. She sighed and glanced at the clock again, then back to the door. Perhaps she should go. Not to the stables, not with Gracie asleep in her bed, but surely she could just pop out to the Molesleys. Then perhaps Joseph could check for her.

She was decided. That was what she would do. She would be back in two shakes. Gracie would never know she was gone. Just as she was pulling on her shawl, the back door opened and a dripping Charles entered.

He lifted his eyebrows. "Were you going out?"

"To search for you." She stepped closer to lift her lips to his for a welcoming kiss, but pulled back sharply when she scented his breath. Whiskey. She had no fond memories of that smell on a man's breath. Her Charlie never smelled that way.

He looked confused and a little hurt. She regarded him carefully. His eyes weren't clouded by drink, but they were clouded. She tried to name the emotion there. Weariness? Sadness? Devastation?

"Whiskey?"

He had the grace to blush. "Just the one. It's been... I needed it today."

Now her worry increased tenfold, and he sensed it. "I am not hurt. Neither is Mr. Jerkyns, or the lads. At least not badly."

Her shoulders loosened a bit. "You should get out of those wet things. It must be raining buckets. I'll warm your supper and make you some good hot tea."

Any other time, he would have begged her to help him with stripping off his soggy clothing, and most of the time she would have agreed, leaving his supper to go cold. Now, he merely nodded, hanging up his coat and hat and removing his boots to leave them by the door.

As she warmed his food, her mind turned over what could have possibly happened. Had he perhaps lost his job? Had someone come to the town with news of her past? She set out his plate and had the tea ready, waiting for him to come. When he didn't come right away she opened the bedroom door to check on him. Gracie was standing in her crib, and he was leaning over the edge.

"No, I will not under any circumstances hold you," Charles was whispering, "you need your sleep and Mum is already angry with me."

She stretched her arms toward him, releasing her hold on the edge of the crib and promptly falling on her bottom. Eyes immediately scrunched up as she prepared to cry. Charles scooped her up before she could let out the first whimper.

"Now, now, we'll have none of that," he whispered, patting her bottom and letting his cheek rest on her hair.

Elsie laughed softly, "Well, that's certainly showing her, Da."

He turned and gave her a half smile and roll of his eyes.

"Bring her," she said, "I can hold her while you eat, and we can put her back to bed after. She fought sleep tonight anyway. I think she missed you."

He sighed, "I am sorry, Elsie. There was no one to send to let you know."

"Charles, I'm not angry, just worried. Will you tell me?"

He closed his eyes briefly and nodded, "After Gracie's asleep. I don't like saying such things in front of her, even if she can't understand."

She frowned and took her daughter from his arms. Now she was worried indeed.

Gracie snuggled in her arms, watching her Da eat slowly and deliberately. As he took his first bite of the now dry and chewy chicken, she met his eyes, "You needn't say it. It's been warming over long. I'm sorry."

"It still has a good flavor," he said after chewing his bite thoughtfully, "If I hadn't ruined it by being so late. Rosemary?"

She nodded, "I thought you might like that."

Gracie started to babble then, a few syllables followed by a great deal of bubble blowing.

Charles lifted his eyebrows at her, "You don't say? Rhubarb crumble? That sounds delicious. And what else did you and Mum do today?"

Elsie laughed, and Gracie joined her, laughing far too loudly, "Charles, how did you get rhubarb crumble from that? Do you have some magic powers that I don't know?"

He smiled then, and she saw that it nearly reached his eyes. Tapping his nose with his forefinger, he said, "Just a magic nose. This great thing needs to be good for something."

Gracie stretched out her hand toward him, and he met her eyes seriously, "Not for grabbing, pet."

Elsie's shoulders relaxed a bit. It couldn't be too serious if he could joke with Gracie. She answered his earlier question. "We cleaned the other bedroom."

He lifted his eyes from Gracie to hers, "Are we going to try to move Gracie there?"

She nodded, "I think it's time. She hardly wakes up at night anymore, and besides we need..." She trailed off thinking that might best be saved for another time.

No matter his weariness, though, he caught her slip so she continued, "We need to not have to be so quiet."

He fixed her with a look that said he wasn't quite fooled and continued to chew. Gracie babbled again and then giggled spontaneously.

Charles smiled at her, "Now that time I have no idea what you were saying, but it must be hilarious."

Elsie noticed that the more that they spoke of mundane household matters, the more the stiffness relaxed from his shoulders and the tightness around his eyes lessened so she continued.

"Then we went on a little visit." She hurried on so that he wouldn't ask who they visited, "We also gathered some of the herbs to dry. The garden is coming along nicely."

Charles' shoulders tightened again, and he asked quietly, "Do you have any of your salve? One of the lads has a few bruises."

She looked at him in alarm so he added, "Nothing too dangerous, but he'll likely be sore tomorrow."

By this time, he had finished his meal so she handed him Gracie while she took his plate. She took the rhubarb crumble from the oven and filled two bowls. Gracie had leaned back against his chest, eyes blinking heavily.

"You didn't already have yours?" He asked.

She shook her head, "I don't like having my sweet without you." She moved to take Gracie from his arms, but he lifted a hand to forestall her.

"She's fine. I can eat with my left hand."

Gracie's eyes blinked slower and slower until finally they stayed shut and her mouth dropped open slightly.

They finished their crumble in silence and then she cleared the few dishes while Charles took Gracie to her crib.

She hardly heard him return from the bedroom before he had his arms wrapped around her waist and had his lips pressed to the back of her neck. "Thank you for that, love, I needed it."

She turned in his arms, "Dry chicken? Or the rhubarb crumble?"

He laid his cheek on her hair, "You. And Gracie. You settled me."

She leaned back to look in his eyes, "Now will you tell me?"

He gestured with his head toward the sitting room. "Let's sit down, and I'll tell you all about my day."

With that, he sat on one side of the settee, one leg on the floor, so that she could settle between his thighs and lean back against him. He handed her knitting to her from the basket, knowing that she needed to keep her hands busy.

He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, "One of the lads was riding in the rain and got too close to the edge of a trench. The horse's foot slipped. She broke both front legs falling into the ditch and threw the lad. That's how he got his bruises."

She covered the hand that was on her waist with her own. She knew the realities of livestock as much as he. "So you had to put her down?"

His hand clenched on her waist, and she felt him nod behind her, "I broke her neck. I'm the only one strong enough, you see."

She could hear the near anguish in his voice and wondered. It was a bad business to have to put a horse down, but it was his job.

"I made it quick," he said softly.

She thought now that she might understand a little, "So it would be easier."

He nodded against her neck. "It was the sound. It was just like when the rope drops."

She closed her eyes, heart breaking for her husband. She'd never in their months together stopped to wonder if his past haunted him.

"It made you remember," she said, threading her fingers through his now.

"I never hanged anyone that I didn't believe was guilty, you understand?"

She nodded and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. He never would.

"But still," he continued, "they have someone who will mourn. They're someone's father or son or husband."

"Everyone?" She asked, wondering who would have mourned her.

"All except one," he said, "You know that Thomas's father killed his mother?"

"He hinted that to me once," she said.

"Thomas was thin as a rail, filthy, and frightened when we found him. I don't know what his father did to him, but Thomas spat in his face as I took him to the gallows. I never regretted that one."

"But you regret the others?"

He shook his head, "No. I, you see, there's a type of wall. Them on one side and me on the other. I had to build it up, or I could never have done my job. There were cracks sometimes."

"And with me? Was there a crack?"

"You crashed the wall down," he smiled against her neck, "You were never guilty of any crime."

She smiled at his fervent, constant trust in her. That was something to cherish in her heart.

They sat quietly then except for the clicking of her needles in the yarn, his head resting on her head and hands drawing small circles on her abdomen.

After a very long and a very short time, he teased gently, "Another blanket? Doesn't Gracie have enough?"

She nodded, "Gracie does."

His hand stilled on her waist, and his breath caught, "Are the Moseleys expecting?"

She shook her head, trying to contain her smile.

"For us?" She could hear the barely contained excitement in his voice. She nodded and lost count of her stitches.

He turned her in his arms and kissed her until she was dizzy. "Are you sure? When? How long have you known?"

She laughed at the rapid fire questions followed by long kisses that left her unable to answer. Placing two fingers over his lips to ward him off long enough for her to speak, she answered in reverse order, "I missed my courses last month so I hoped. I think the baby will come in the spring, March or April, and I visited the midwife today to be sure."

He smiled widely and then his smile faded and a worried frown appeared, "But that means we've..." He gestured vaguely between them, "dozens of times since. Won't we hurt the baby?"

"No," she said emphatically, "Charles, men and women have been having babies for as long as there have been men and women. Do you think they all deny themselves for nine months at a time?"

"Well, when you put it that way," he said, "But still."

She was firm, "You'll not deny me that. Be gentle if you like, but we need each other."

He grinned and pulled her tight against him. "Very well, Mrs. Carson, if you insist. Gently."

 ** _Still more to come. With some time jumps or this would go on for eternity._**


	20. A touch

_**A couple of months later.**_

Charles stood patiently while Elsie knotted his tie, hands on her hips, thumbs caressing the edge of her now rounded belly.

She clicked her tongue at him, "You're distracting me."

"I'm sorry, love," he apologized insincerely, and his thumbs stilled.

She smiled, "I didn't say stop, but I just can't understand why you can knot your tie every day but Sunday."

He leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers. "Because on Sunday, I'm not going to be seen only by horses," his fingers flexed on her hips, "and I enjoy distracting you."

She patted his tie and stretched up to meet his lips for another kiss, and he wrapped his arms around her wondering how to convince her that being late for church would not be so very bad until he caught sight of a decidedly off-balance child careening toward them.

Releasing his hold on her hips, he caught Gracie just before she collided with the back of his wife's legs. "Hold on there, pet. We need to get you a bit more steady, or you'll knock your Mum off her feet."

She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Dadadadada"

His heart filled with joy, and he looked to see Elsie's reaction. It might just be babbling, but in his heart of hearts he believed she was definitely referring to him. Elsie smiled indulgently at them and moved to the mirror so that she could straighten her hair and hat.

"I think she's doing very well to have just been walking for two months, and yes, she does know her Dada," she said.

He nodded and dangled his freshly knotted tie in front of Gracie. "Our girl's a genius. We'll have her riding by her next birthday."

Elsie looked at him sharply but could only laugh when both father and daughter looked back at her with identically innocent expressions and raised eyebrows.

Charles couldn't help how his chest puffed up with pride as they walked out to church. He held his daughter in one arm, and his wife, who held his other child within her, had her arm linked through his other. Casting a sideways glance down toward her middle, he was still amazed that she could carry within her the child created from their love. His own eyes which knew her so intimately could easily make out the gentle rounding of her belly and the fullness of her breasts, but he wondered if anyone else could quite notice yet. He stopped short when a memory of her with the shadow of bars between them came suddenly to mind.

She looked up at him in question, and he hesitated only a moment before sharing his realization with her.

"I just remembered that you're as far along now as you were with our Gracie," he turned toward her, arm holding his daughter just a little more snug as he studied her face for any shade of sadness.

She met his eyes and the tiniest of wrinkles was on her forehead. "I hadn't thought. So much of that time seems lost to me."

He wrapped the arm that she had been holding around her to draw her closer.

After a few moments, he spoke hoarsely, "This time, I promise you that you'll have a soft bed, warm clothes, all the food you can eat. All that I can give you, I will."

She lifted her hand to caress his cheek. "Charles, that was an awful time. I was terribly afraid and alone. Then, when you came, first to measure me and then again and again, I began to not feel so alone. After a time, I could trust to your visits. Then, after a time I came to realize that you cared for me and even, perhaps, loved me." He smiled at her, and she finished, "You've already given me all your best, all I need." With a mischievous smile, she added, "I'll never be opposed to potatoes or peas, though."

Gracie agreed loudly, "Peeeas!"

Charles hugged Elsie tighter then bent to kiss her before releasing her and offering her his arm again. He swallowed the emotion that tightened his throat, "If my girls want peas, then they will have peas."

Elsie linked her arm with his and rested her hand on his forearm, stretching her fingers so that she could caress the tiny strip of skin between the cuff of his jacket and the edge of his glove. He wondered if, like him, she was remembering a time when their touches were blocked by iron. They continued to church in relative silence between them broken only by occasional babbling interspersed with somewhat intelligible words from Gracie.

They walked into church, not quite late, but nearly so. Charles ushered Elsie into their pew and sat down at the end with Gracie on his knee. He hoped he would be forgiven for not attending fully to the words of the music or the sermon. His mind was on the warmth of Elsie's thigh pressed against his own. His deepest desire at the moment was to go home and hopefully encourage Gracie to nap.

 ** _To be continued_**


	21. A proposition

**_After church_**

Elsie's attention drifted from her conversation as she scanned the churchyard seeking her husband and daughter. While she considered Mrs. Molesley a dear friend, she was more than eager to get home. Charles had lifted an eyebrow at her and escaped with Gracie as soon as the conversation turned to the difficulty of potty training boys. She rather hoped that she might explore those mysteries herself one day soon, but for now had no practical advice for her friend and was looking for a means of escape herself. Her feet ached and she just wanted to go home and nap with her husband, especially if they could manage to keep Gracie awake long enough now that she took a long nap herself.

It took her longer than it should have to spot the curly brown head she'd grown to love because it was rather lower to the ground than usual. Charles was crouched near the large oak tree in the churchyard with Gracie between his knees. After a moment, she saw that Gracie was picking up various objects, acorns, leaves, rocks, and twigs, and handing them to her Da. Charles would carefully examine each one, thank his daughter gravely, and then tuck it away in his pocket. Silly man. What a pile of stuff they'd have at home. She would have to surreptitiously remove them to the 'safe place' in the back garden.

As she approached, she noticed Lord Grantham break away from his family to approach Charles as well. Charles rose so quickly to his feet that only a graceful last minute dodge kept him from banging his head on a low hanging branch.

She stopped, waiting to see what his employer would want from her husband and hoping that it would not be for him to work today. She very much wanted her husband at home today. In their bed. With her. With Gracie asleep in the other room.

"Milord," Charles doffed his hat to acknowledge his Lordship and stood respectfully but with Gracie on one arm.

"Carson," the slightly younger man nodded and then reached forward to chuck Gracie on the chin. Gracie became suddenly shy and ducked her head against Charles's shoulder, hiding her face from the strange man. "Is this the daughter I've heard so much about? Mercy is it?"

"Grace, your lordship," Charles replied, and Elsie could see his chest puff up. She moved closer to relieve Charles of his burden so that he could speak more freely. Charles inclined his head toward and said, "Yes, she's our daughter, just over a year old." Gracie apparently decided that anyone her Da was talking to might possibly be acceptable and turned her face to glance at the strange man.

"She looks a bit like you," Lord Grantham said when he got a better glimpse of the child's face. Charles merely smiled, but he rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. Then the young Earl turned to smile at Elsie, "But she has her mother's eyes and hair, I believe."

Charles twirled one of Gracie's auburn curls around his index finger and smiled down at her. Elsie out her arms to Gracie who leaned into her arms and hugged her neck. Charles relinquished her only a little reluctantly and then turned back to Lord Grantham.

"Am I needed today Milord?" he asked, and Elsie noted the hint of trepidation in his voice. She had no doubt that he had been looking forward to their nap nearly as much as she.

"No, no, not at all," the Earl shook his head, "I merely wondered if you had considered my proposition."

Charles's shoulders rolled, and he glanced quickly toward Elsie before meeting his Lordship's gaze, "I have considered it, but it has only been one day Milord. We've not had time to discuss..."

"Ah, I see," he replied, glancing toward Elsie, "Yes, of course, well, then, I'll leave you to your day. If you could let me know your decision by Wednesday?"

Charles gave a half smile of relief and nodded, "Yes, Milord, that should be no trouble."

Just as Lord Grantham took his leave of a decidedly confused Elsie, Mrs. O'Brien, the mother of the lads who worked in the stables, bore down on them with more energy than Elsie had ever seen.

"You should be ashamed," she said. The full force of her indignation was focused on Elsie. Charles stepped quietly but quickly in front of Elsie, shielding her and Gracie from the other woman.

Lord Grantham looked at the interloper in confusion. "Mrs. O'Brien?'"

The woman in question turned toward Lord Grantham, fury still at full sail, "Do you know what this, this woman has done?"

Elsie watched Charles's shoulders stiffen and face harden. He, there was no other word for it, loomed, staring down at the little woman with a dark look on his face.

Lord Grantham merely quirked an eyebrow at her and said smoothly, "I know that she has given my nanny a tincture to help my daughter with teething, and she's given my wife a tea that has helped with her headaches. I also believe she provided a salve for the bruises your son received when he ruined one of my best horses. Was there something else she might have done, Mrs. O' Brien?"

Surely it took a great deal of breeding and years of privilege to infuse one's words with that degree of condescension, Elsie thought but was happy to see Charles's shoulders relax slightly.

The wind had gone out of the woman's sails a bit, but only a bit. "She killed her husband."

"Did she?" Lord Grantham asked, in a surprise so well feigned it could have been genuine. "I was under the impression that her husband was one of the best grooms I've ever had."

The woman glanced up at Charles with a disdain so palpable that Elsie could have gladly scratched her eyes out. "This one perhaps, but what about the other one. I have it on good authority that she seduced this one in order to save herself. No wonder they came here with naught but the clothes on their backs and a babe. There's the evidence in her arms. Who knows? She probably had to kill her husband to hide..."

Charles erupted, "Enough!" He thankfully kept his hands clenched at his sides. Gracie began to cry, and Elsie tried to hush her.

She touched Charles's arm and said, "Charles, you're scaring her."

He turned to her with a ferocity she'd never seen and growled, "I mean to."

His face crumpled when he saw Gracie crying, and he patted her back gently, bending to whisper in her ear, "Not you, pet, never you." He turned back to his other conversation, and in a dangerously quiet voice asked, "Who's authority? You said you had it on good authority. On who's authority are you spreading these lies?"

By this time, nearly everyone who was still in the church yard had gathered to watch what was probably the best entertainment in years. Lord Grantham had smoothly stepped between Charles and Mrs. O' Brien, Rev. Clarkson was approaching in a graceless half run, Mr. Jerkyns was at Charles's side, and Mrs. Molesley had her hand on Elsie's arm.

The odious little woman attempted to glance around Charles to Elsie, but he stepped deftly and menacingly to the side to block her gaze. Her mouth tightened in frustration and she looked up at him, "My cousin, Joss Tufton. You may remember him. He wrote to me last week. He was shocked that we would have such a dangerous criminal in our little town and around my boys."

"Joss Tufton?" Charles snorted in derision, although Elsie had no idea who he was. "If I had a pence for every time I had to warn him off a woman or caught him cheating at cards, I would own the stables and all the horses in them."

"Why you...," Mrs. O' Brien took a step toward Charles, and Elsie caught the distinct whiff of alcohol. Lord Grantham put up his hand to warn her. Elsie looked up to see William and Alfred O' Brien trotting red-faced toward their mother.

"Mrs. O' Brien," he asked, "Do you really believe that I would allow someone to work with hundreds of pounds worth of horseflesh without knowing his entire background?"

She glanced at his Lordship in surprise, and he continued in a voice loud enough for the entire gathered crowd to hear, "My cousin, Judge Matthew Crawley himself, issued a full pardon for Mrs. Carson and sent them here with his best wishes. So, unless you'd like to question the judgment of my family?" When Mrs. O' Brien shook her head in confusion, he smiled coldly, "Then I believe we should consider the matter closed."

Rev. Clarkson added, also loud enough for everyone to hear, "And for my part, you should know that my seminary brother Rev. Bates assured me himself of Mrs. Carson's good nature. She was married to Mr. Carson from the Bates' own home. Certainly not what one would expect for a dangerous criminal is it Mrs. O' Brien?"

Mrs. O'Brien glanced from Lord Grantham to Rev. Clarkson to Charles and finally to Elsie who was trying to soothe a frightened Gracie with soft whispers. Charles's anger seemed to dissolve into disgust, and he turned his back on the interloper to comfort his daughter. By this time, the two O' Brien lads were on either side of their mother and urging her away. With one last glare at Charles's back, the woman allowed herself to be led away by her sons.

Elsie concentrated on her daughter, blocking out the neighbors that she was sure were now looking at her in disgust and possibly fear. She should have known this would happen. She should have taken Gracie and gone far away. Charles would be disgraced. He would lose his job. The life they were building was all but destroyed.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the touch of a hand on her arm. She looked up into the face of Lady Grantham. In her surprise, she forgot even to curtesy.

"Mrs. Carson," Lady Grantham said, "I wanted to thank you personally for the tincture that soothed Sybbie's gums. I believe she and Nanny were able to sleep soundly for the first time in days."

Charles had taken a respectful step back, but Elsie could see that he was regarding her with open pride. Elsie inclined her head in gratitude for the compliment and said, "I am more than happy to help Milady. We well know how difficult that can be."

"I just wanted you to know that you should never wonder where your place is, because the answer is that it is here, with us."

Elsie chanced a glance around the churchyard and saw no disgust, no fear, no anger. There was only concern. She felt her own eyes stinging with tears of relief. Looking up at Charles, she managed to ask, "Do you think we could go home Mr. Carson? I'm feeling very tired."

Mrs. Molesley and Mrs. Drewe brushed her arm as they passed and murmured words of encouragement and promises to visit tomorrow, and Mr. Jerkyns took Charles aside to speak quietly into his ear before clapping him on the shoulder and pushing him back toward Elsie.

As soon as they moved away from the crowd, Charles held out his arms for Gracie, but she clung to Elsie and buried her head in her neck. Elsie shook her head at him and just held her daughter. They walked along in a not entirely comfortable silence, until finally Charles spoke.

"I've frightened her."

Elsie smiled to try to comfort him. "She's never heard you raise your voice before. She'll come around." Then she added in a quieter voice, "Neither have I."

He quirked a half smile at her, "We get on rather well together, don't we?" There was a hint of worry in his voice, so she answered him as honestly as she could.

"I think we do," she said, and then hesitated as she tried to find the right words, "I hope you don't think we'll never fight. I'm sure we will eventually, but I know you'd never hurt me."

He turned his head to look at her seriously, "You've had enough unpleasantness in your life. I've no desire to add to it." The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile, "I still can't believe how fortunate I am to have you. Both of you. All three of you."

She opened her mouth to disagree, but just as quickly shut it. She wasn't going to argue about not arguing. That was a discussion best saved for another time.

Their quiet tones and walk had done more to quiet Gracie than any amount of petting would have. She turned her head toward her Da, and then leaned toward him. Elsie relinquished her gratefully, carrying around two children was a bit too much for her at the moment. She kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead. "That was awful."

Charles's mouth pulled down in a frown. The disgust was evident in his voice, "She was drunk."

Elsie nodded, "I know. I had wondered."

"No wonder the lads would rather be at the stables than home," Charles said, "There are some days that I have a time of it getting rid of William."

"I wonder how they get along," Elsie said, "Alfred's thin as a rail, and he always eats as though he's starving when you send him with a message."

"Mmm," Charles agreed thoughtfully, "That's why I always have them take turns. Does William not eat?"

"Only enough to be polite," Elsie said, "but I think that might be more pride."

They continued in silence for a few more steps, Charles shifted Gracie to his right arm so that he could offer his left to Elsie. She leaned into him a little more than usual, and he looked at her sharply.

"It's done you in," he said, "you should have a nap. A real nap."

She shook her head. "I'll be fine. I was expecting it at some point really."

"Were you?" he asked, eyebrows drawn low.

"Were you not?" she quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Yes, I was," he admitted. "I suppose we should be grateful that it was a straightforward attack. I was expecting gossip, whispers, averted eyes, hushed conversations."

"Grateful," she snorted and rolled her eyes.

"Perhaps grateful is too strong a word, but I was surprised by his Lordship and more so by her Ladyship."

"And the vicar," Elsie added.

"And the vicar," he agreed, then his mouth pulled down again, "There may be whispers now, of course. If you wish, we could leave. I could ask for references, make inquiries."

She turned her head to study his face carefully. "What is it that Lord Grantham wants of you?"

"What? Oh, that," he rolled his shoulders and shifted his eyes away from hers, "just a minor question..." He trailed off when he saw she was not to be fooled. "He wants me to become head groom."

"But Mr. Jerkyns is still in good health," she said, confused, "Does he want you to usurp him?"

"Mr. Jerkyns is in very good health," Charles agreed with a hint of a grin and lift of his eyebrows, "And eager to get married himself."

She looked at him in astonishment. The man might be in good health but he was sixty-five if he was a day.

Charles's grin widened. "He and the housekeeper have apparently had an understanding for some time."

Elsie looked at him, slightly guilty for the bit of gossiping, but only slightly, "For how long?"

"Well," Charles said, "I saw her going to his cottage the night we had to put down the horse, and she knew the path well enough to not need a lantern." Then he added with a significant look, "And she didn't knock on the door."

Elsie paused for a moment, picturing the housekeeper in her mind. She wasn't unattractive. Handsome rather than pretty, and with gray streaking her hair. People that old in a heated romance? Visiting each other in the wee hours? She wondered if she'd still be eager enough when she was that old to walk through the dark and rain to her lover's house. A picture of Charles with grey streaking his hair and wrinkles around his eyes came to mind, and she knew without a shadow of doubt that she'd gladly walk through a gale to be with him. She smiled, and her wishes for a nap this afternoon were renewed.

"I still don't understand," she said, "Why would Mr. Jerkyns need to leave to be married?

Being deliberately obtuse and with a smile tugging at his lips, Charles said, "Most married men like to live with their wives, I suppose."

"Charles," she warned. She wasn't quite up to teasing, and to his credit, he quickly realized it.

"Mrs. Pratt just inherited a house by the sea in Scarborough," he explained. "She has a mind to turn it into a hotel or at least a bed and breakfast."

"That sounds lovely," she said, "but what would a groom do at a hotel?"

Charles shrugged and made a face when Gracie tugged on his ear. "I don't know. Brush down the guests. Feed and water them. Not too different from horses, I'd wager."

She rolled her eyes, and he chuckled. "I suppose he'll do whatever she tells him. Mrs. Pratt is a formidable woman, and he's besotted."

"So," Elsie said thoughtfully, "Lord Grantham needs a new head groom."

Charles kept his eyes on the road ahead. "It's a good chance, Elsie. There's a bit more pay, of course, and the tips, but the best thing is that the head groom's cottage has three bedrooms. There'd be one for us and then one for the girls and one for the boys." His ears reddened immediately at his slip, and Elsie looked at him sharply.

"One for girls and one for boys? How many of each were you hoping for?"

He took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. "I love Gracie." Gracie responded to hearing her name by repeating it and then tugging his ear to pull him down so that she could kiss his cheek. He smiled at her and kissed her forehead before continuing, "I'd love another girl, but I'd like to have at least one son. If we're blessed in that way, of course." Then, his lip twitched, "And if we keep on as we have been, we're likely to have at least a half dozen."

She hugged his arm closer in agreement and smiled to herself as she remembered the path her thoughts had been taking during church.

"And the drawbacks?" she asked.

He tilted his head to the side. "Travel. There'd be nothing I could do about that. I don't like to be away so much, especially now with a growing family, but it would be my responsibility."

"And?" she asked, "There's something else. Don't try to hide it."

He met her eyes squarely. "I'll not take this job just to leave. It wouldn't be fair to his Lordship or to the other grooms. It would mean that we're deciding to stay. If you'd like to move farther away to get away from any rumors, we need to do it now. If I take this job, then we stay and face whatever gossip and whispers they are. We build our life here."

He was right, of course. She thought back to how mortified she'd been when Mrs. O' Brien accosted them in the churchyard. She wondered what it might be like for Gracie in a few years when she'd be old enough to understand. Finally, she looked up at her husband's steady hazel eyes that were studying her carefully. There was no doubt what they'd do. There never had been really.

"We'll have to plant a new garden, but I suppose it will be worth it for the extra bedroom," she said, and Charles smiled before bending down to capture her lips in a kiss.

Perhaps they'd have a nap today after all.

 ** _Next, a nap. Maybe._**


	22. A family

**_Sorry for the tease, but this wanted to be written._**

Charles's heart soared when he saw the sky darkening outside the window. He couldn't have ordered better weather. They were home, Sunday luncheon was nearly finished, Gracie's eyes were growing heavy, and now it was going to rain. Glorious, wonderful day. He would definitely have to spend the rest of the day inside. In bed. With his wife. While his daughter took a long nap.

He glanced at Elsie's back where she was fussing with the pudding and decided to test the waters. "It looks like rain."

She paused and then resumed spooning out three servings of apple crumble. "That's a pity."

His face fell. She must want him out of the house. She must be tired. Perhaps he should just read. She turned toward him with a flirtatious smile.

"It looks like a day that will only be good for napping."

His own lip curved upward again as he agreed, "A long nap."

She glanced down to where Gracie was sitting on his lap, playing with her spoon, eyes drooping as she leaned back against his chest.

"It's a good thing Gracie didn't sleep during church," she said, "She'll need a long nap too."

"Mmm," he agreed, rolling his shoulders as he remembered how hard he had worked at keeping his daughter occupied and awake throughout the morning. A quick sideways look at Elsie told him that she knew exactly what he'd been about.

He had just lifted the first forkful of apple crumble to his mouth when there was a knock on the door. His eyes closed in frustration, and he wondered if they could just hide. In the bedroom preferably. Just as he was ready to suggest as much to Elsie, there was another, louder knock. Reading his own disappointment in her eyes, he rose slowly to greet whoever was interrupting his plans, settling Gracie on her lap

With monumental effort, he opened the door calmly, reminding himself that he needed to be kind to his neighbors. The two O'Brien lads were standing on his doorstep, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, and large drops of rain were beginning to fall. He sighed. There was nothing for it. No nap today. He invited the two lads in out of the rain.

Gracie perked up immediately at seeing two of her favorite people and struggled to get off her mother's lap. "Yum! 'Lfie, 'Lfie! Yum!"

Alfred crouched to catch the toddler careening toward him and said, "Hullo there Gracie." He produced a bit of wood from his pocket and held it out to her before lifting her in the air. She took it eagerly, turning it over in her hands. Then she held it out to Charles.

"Horsss! Horrss, Dada."

Charles studied it carefully. It was some type of carving and probably an animal, but he would have been hard-pressed to call it a horse. Alfred was grinning proudly, however, so he nodded and agreed, "Yes, a horse. Isn't that lovely?"

Alfred glanced nervously toward Elsie who was approaching them, "May she keep it, Mrs. Carson? I smoothed it down careful. There's no splinters. I promise."

Elsie smiled at her daughter who was tightly clutching her new treasure and at Alfred. "Of course she may keep it." Then she took Gracie from the boy's arms and looked from him to his brother who had remained standing staring gravely at Charles with his hat twisting in his hands.

William glanced at her and then his eyes darted quickly back to her husband. "I hope we've not interrupted your lunch."

Charles shook his head, but wasn't quite ready to be too welcoming, "No. Was there something you wanted to discuss, or did you just come to bring the gift?"

Both William and Alfred's shoulders rolled uncomfortably, and they looked at each other nervously.

Elsie smoothly stepped in to alleviate the awkwardness. "What Mr. Carson meant to say was that we've finished luncheon, but we've not had our pudding. Would you boys like some apple crumble?" Charles looked at her sharply. He'd not meant to say any such thing. Sharing his apple crumble with these lads was the last thing he wanted to do. He'd been planning on having a second serving after an afternoon in bed which was looking less and less likely to happen.

William cleared his throat, "No, Mrs. Carson. We've just, that is Alfred and me, we've come to apologize." He turned back to Charles and squared his shoulders, "It's my fault, sir. I told Mum about the scolding you gave me, and it set her off. I was wrong to complain to her. I'd done wrong, and I should have taken it like a man." He bowed his head, no doubt ready for further punishment.

Charles glanced over the boy's, and he was just a boy of thirteen no matter how much he tried to be grown up, head at Elsie. The compassion in her eyes echoed his own thoughts.

"William," he said, and put his hand on his shoulder, "you've nothing to be ashamed of. We're none of us responsible for what our family does. You needn't worry that this will affect your job at the stable."

William's head snapped up, and he said ferociously, "I didn't apologize just for that." He turned to Elsie, "Mrs. Carson, you've been nothing but kind to Alfred and me. We'd never want to hurt you."

Gracie was reaching for Alfred, who was standing as stiff as a ten year old boy could. Elsie relinquished her to him and stepped closer to both the boys.

"What's past is past," she said, "we all have chapters in our lives we'd rather not be published. Don't trouble yourself over me, and Mr. Carson is right. We're none of us responsible for the mistakes of our family, even if we might suffer for them."

William's shoulders relaxed, and she smiled at him. "Now, will you have some apple crumble or not?"

Charles gave up entirely on a nap and resigned himself to a smaller portion of apple crumble and no seconds. Watching Gracie play with the "horse" that Alfred had so carefully made her, however, he couldn't find it within himself to be too resentful.

Once they were sitting at the table again, with five bowls of apple crumble and Gracie reluctantly leaving Alfred's arms to sit on Charles's knee, he lifted the first forkful to his mouth and smiled, "Very best apple crumble I've ever had."

William looked from him to Elsie and took his own bite, "Yes, Mrs. Carson, the very best."

Alfred looked curiously at his brother before taking his own bite and echoing, "The very best."

Elsie blushed, very prettily Charles thought, and said, "Flatterers. Stop your flanneling and eat."

Charles took turns with eating his own crumble and feeding Gracie who smacked her lips around every spoonful. William and Alfred savored every bite. Studying their thin faces, Charles found himself wishing that there was some of the shepherd's pie left to share as well. After cleaning every crumb from his bowl, William cleared his throat again, "Mr. Carson, I'd like to live over the stables."

Alfred burst in quickly, "Me too."

Charles looked up sharply, and it was only with a great effort that he managed not to sound too surprised. "And why would you want that?"

William met his gaze steadily for a moment, giving him a hint of the type of man he might one day become. The boy's eyes clouded over with sadness tinged with anger. He clenched his jaw and looked down at the table.

Charles glanced toward Elsie over Gracie's head, his mouth suddenly dry. For a moment, he wondered if he should pry. Then he remembered what the deliberate obtuseness of so many had cost her. He had sworn to himself, standing outside her cell, that he would never deliberately not know again. After setting his fork carefully on the table, he looked from one boy to the other before asking very quietly, "Does she harm you?"

Alfred wouldn't meet his eyes, but William bit out, "Not her."

"Your father?" he asked, trying to bring the man to mind. The mere fact that he couldn't should speak volumes.

Alfred looked up sharply. "He's not our father."

William glared at his brother and then spoke quietly. "He's a sailor, sir. He's not around much now, but with winter coming, he'll be around more. It's best if we're not there when he is. We've been working in the stables for over a year now, and we think we'd be better on our own. If you say the word, Mr. Jerkyns would let us stay in the loft. We know he would."

Charles tapped his fingers on the table, turning over this information in his mind. It wasn't his place to interfere really, but if two boys wanted to be on their own, few would stop them. Hadn't he been entirely on his own when he was not much older than Alfred? At least this way, they'd be able to look after each other. He rather thought Mrs. O' Brien might welcome not having to feed and clothe them. Elsie's quiet voice broke into his thoughts.

"Have you thought of where you'd eat?" she asked, and the look on their faces told him that they hadn't.

He looked at them steadily, "You couldn't cook anything there. We couldn't risk the fire." Elsie met his eyes, and he knew they were in agreement, "You'll eat with us."

Both boys looked up in surprise from their study of their bowls. They expected sternness from him, and he needed to live up to expectations. Infusing his voice with just the right level of harshness, he continued his offer, "Not for free. Mrs. Carson and I will be moving soon." At their look of alarm, he added, "To the head groom's cottage. We'll need help moving, digging storage for our winter vegetables, cleaning, and whatever else Mrs. Carson wants. I'll also be traveling some. I would like to have someone I could trust to look after Mrs. Carson and Gracie when I'm not here."

William glanced at Alfred who nodded eagerly. "We would be glad to do that, sir. We don't want charity, though. We'll do our share."

Charles nodded, "Of course you will. If you don't work, you won't eat. You'll be at Mrs. Carson's beck and call when you're here." With a twitch of his lips he added, "Just as I am." Then he held out his hand first to William and then to Alfred, shaking each boy's hand as gravely as he would any man's.

Charles glanced toward the window where the rain was still beating. "You're welcome to stay here until the rain lets up. I suppose you could start your payment by clearing the table, while I lay Gracie down for her nap." She had finally given in to her exhaustion during their conversation and was drooling on his chest, fist still clenched around her new toy. "Mrs. Carson will show you where to put the dishes," he added, with a lift of his eyebrows at the wife who had gotten them into this.

They nearly leapt from their seats to do just that, and Charles smiled to himself. Somehow, he had a feeling that his family had just grown.

 ** _Nap coming up_**


	23. A long nap

**_Finally a nap. AKA mild smut._**

Charles stepped very softly out of Gracie's bedroom and pulled the door shut behind him as quietly as possible. He had made the great mistake of trying to take away her horse and re-awakened Gracie. It had take a bit of rocking and two lullabies to lull her back to sleep. The rain was still drumming on the roof, however, and he hoped that would keep her asleep.

It was still raining so hard that he was surprised to see Elsie sitting alone on the settee. He lifted an eyebrow at her. "Where are the lads?"

She stood and walked toward him. "They've gone to get their things. They're eager to move into the stable loft as soon as possible."

"Today?" he asked incredulously, letting his hands rest on her hips as she put hers on his shoulders. "It's raining buckets."

She linked her fingers behind his neck. "It must be worse than we thought."

He bent to brush his lips over hers. "Perhaps I should go help them."

"No," she said emphatically and then moderated her tone, "We should stay out of it. They are moving out on their own. If they want help, we'll help them, but we shouldn't interfere. And certainly not today."

He slid his hands fully around her waist, cupping her bottom, and kissed her again. "Wise woman." He nuzzled her neck. "It will be cold in the stables this winter, though."

Her fingers threaded through the curls at the nape of his neck, and her hands drew him closer. "We'll have three bedrooms. One for us, one for the girls, and one for the boys."

"Elsie," he chided, lifting his head from her neck.

She put a finger on his lips. "Charlie, Gracie is napping, the lads are gone, and it's raining. We should talk later and nap now." As she spoke, she trailed her other hand from his neck to his bottom and squeezed not completely gently. Then she brought that hand around to his front and cupped his rapidly growing erection. He growled and applied his lips to her neck in earnest. She kept her hand on him as she stepped backward toward the bedroom. He stepped forward, more than happy to be led this way toward pure heaven as far as he was concerned or really anywhere else she would like to lead him.

They had nearly made it to the bedroom, pausing frequently for kisses and caresses when he recalled himself and stopped suddenly. "Wait!"

"Charles!" she was clearly frustrated. He smirked, the lads weren't the only eager ones.

"I only wanted to lock the doors," he said, bending to kiss her deeply once more before stepping away to do just that. "I don't want any more interruptions today."

"Wise man," she said, smiling now and forgiving him for his smirk. For good measure, he pulled the kitchen curtains closed as well before returning to her arms. He paused to place her hand back where it belonged before putting his own on her bottom.

"Take me where you wish, wife," he said, bending to continue caressing her neck with his lips. She rewarded him by stroking him through his trousers, and he groaned out her name, need growing exponentially

She turned toward the bedroom and took his hand. "Bedroom. Now."

When they were finally through the door, he pulled her back. Her belly pressed tightly against him. He smiled. Their baby. Between them. She stretched up and he bent down so that they could kiss deeply. They parted only long enough to strip off clothes, and as quickly as possible, she was lying on the bed, holding out her arms to him. He paused to study the changes in her body. Her breasts were more full and her abdomen was rounded just enough to be noticeable.

She rose on her elbows to look at him with a question in her eyes which he answered by lying beside her and saying, "You're beautiful."

She shook her head and turned toward him, trying to hide her body from his eyes. His hand came to rest on her hip, and he repeated emphatically, "You are." Then he kissed her deeply in an attempt to convince her of just how beautiful he found her. She cupped his cheek, fingers brushing his hair, and shifted so that she was pressed tight against him. He responded by pressing closer as well so that they were touching along their entire length, his chest against her breasts, his erection pressed to her belly, her leg wrapped around his thigh, her foot caressing the back of his calf.

She was smiling fondly as she ran her fingers through his hair, and he was curious.

"Do I have something in my hair?"

"Not yet," she pressed her lips to his, parting them and stroking his tongue lightly with her own.

He wasn't so caught up in the kiss that he forgot to question her with a lift of his eyebrows. She stroked his chest as she answered, "I was just remembering Mr. Jerkyns and his housekeeper. I wondered if we would still be that keen when we're that age. Then I thought of you with gray in your hair, and I knew that I would be at least."

"There's likely to be plenty of that soon enough with two boys hanging around," he said and then kissed her softly, caressing her top lip with his tongue. He lifted his head so he could look fully into her eyes. "I'll never not want you, love. If we can't have this, I would be satisfied with just holding your hand, but this is very nice."

"Mmm," she agreed, "Very nice." As she spoke, her hand trailed down his chest, over his belly, and then to brush the very tip of his erection. His breath caught when she stretched out her hand to stroke her fingers over him. His eyes closed in pleasure when she wrapped her hand around him. Before he quite realized what she was doing, she was trailing kisses over his chest and further down. Just before she was ready to take him into her mouth, he stopped her with a hand on her cheek.

"Elsie," his voice was harsh even to his own ears, "I love that, but I'll not last long if you do that. I've been thinking about you too much today."

She nodded against his hand. "Just a taste."

Then her lips wrapped around him, and her tongue ran up his length. He very nearly came as she pressed her tongue against him and sucked lightly. It was only with a monumental effort of concentration that he managed not to spill himself in her mouth. She pulled her head away from him and trailed kisses back up his body until she was facing him again. He pressed his lips to hers more urgently now, needing her to understand just how much he loved and needed her.

She rolled onto her back, bringing him with her, but he held himself above her, not wanting to put too much pressure on the babe in her belly. He bent his head to her breast, tongue circling her nipple gently. She'd said they were tender, and he had no desire to hurt her when she'd just given him a glimpse of heaven. He trailed kisses to the underside of her breast and then over her abdomen, pausing to trace a particularly sensitive spot just inside her right hip bone. Her hands tangled in his hair as she moaned his name, and he thought how wonderful it was to not have to be quiet doing this.

He bent his head to her center. She was already wet with wanting him, but he wanted to taste her. Her scent aroused him more, and he stretched out his tongue to stroke over her. Her hips lifted to meet him, but her held her down gently, determined to bring her the most possible pleasure. Her hips twisted in pleasure in his grasp, but he kept his lips and his tongue at her center until she cried out his name and collapsed back against the bed.

Releasing his hold on her hips, he lifted himself again until he was hovering over her. Her hand came up to languidly cup his cheek and she wiped the moisture from his mouth with her thumb. He couldn't resist drawing her thumb into his mouth and sucking lightly. She spread her legs further apart, urging him between them. With her hand guiding him, he slowly pushed into her depths with a deep sigh of relief. The moment they joined was always when he felt most complete, as though he was only half of a whole until their bodies were joined together in this way. He tried to move slowly with long, draw-out strokes, but she lifted her hips to meet him and urge him to increase his speed. All of his resistance crumbled when she whispered against his cheek.

"Faster, Charlie, please, faster."

He increased his speed steadily until lights exploded behind his eyes, and he spilled his seed inside her. He was ready to collapse against her until he realized that her hips were still moving against him. Putting his hand behind them, he circled her small bud with his thumb until he felt her tighten around his softening erection. Then he slowly withdrew from her and curled against her side, wrapping his leg over hers and drawing her as close to his chest as he possibly could.

She lay with her head on his chest, threading her fingers through the hair there, and pressing kisses to his side. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and his lips slackened into a tired smile.

"That was a very good nap," he said when he'd caught his breath.

He felt her smile against his chest, "Mmmm. The very best."

He breathed out a laugh. "I just wish I had a second serving of apple crumble. I'm starving now."

She laughed and smacked his belly lightly. "You'll have to make do with bread and butter, and you'll have to fetch it yourself. I've no intention of moving for at least another hour."

"In that case," he murmured sleepily, "I'll just stay here with you. You're much better than apple crumble."

"Bread and butter," she corrected drowsily and was asleep before he could correct her. He pulled the blanket over them and followed her into sleep moments after.

 ** _Blushing, again._**


	24. A slip

**_About two month later and Charles is head groom_**.

Yarrow root. Mustard plaster. Elder flower. That might do it. If only she had elder flower tea, he might...

She clenched the hand that was resting on his chest in order to feel the ragged rise and fall of his breaths into a tight fist and took a deep breath to calm her thoughts. He would wake. He must wake. She had done all she could. Now, she would have to trust to Providence and the strength of his body to do the rest. Surely the fact that he was still breathing, no matter how wet those breaths sounded or how often they were punctuated by coughs, was a good sign. Closing her eyes, she fought down the sob that threatened to escape.

She brushed her hand over his cheek that was too pale under two days growth of beard to feel his rapidly warming brow. Wearily, she rose from his side to fetch a flannel and a bowl of cool water. She wondered whether bathing him served to calm his fever or her fear more.

As she washed the sweat from his brow and cleaned the gash on the back of his head, she remembered the horror that first night of running her fingers through his hair only to find that it was more wet with blood than water. Her hands trembled as she smoothed the flannel over his cheeks and chest, reliving her terror when Tom Branson and William had carried a soaking, shivering Charles through her door.

Dipping the flannel into the water, she turned her attention to his arms, carefully skimming on the bruises under them. Thankful for the rope that had kept him secure.

An icy bridge, a balking horse, and frigid waters had come very near to costing her her husband's life. The thought nearly took her breath away. She closed her eyes and offered up another prayer. Surely God would not be so cruel to take this husband from her. Not now that they had built a life and a family together.

She finished bathing him twice over, and he seemed to cool but began coughing. She rolled him up on his side and rubbed his back as he coughed. From the sound of his breathing, he'd swallowed half the river. Perhaps now he could cough some of that out.

When his breathing was calm again, she set the basin and cloth on the table. She would deal with them later. For now, she wanted, no needed, to lie with him. Settling at his side with her hand on his chest to reassure herself of his continued deep breaths, she dropped off into an exhausted sleep.

She was startled awake by his bed-shuddering cough and a loud groan. Lemon with honey. That was what was needed. If she could just get him to swallow a few spoonfuls, that would soothe his cough. As she started to pull her hand away so that she could do just that, his hand lifted to cover hers, holding it tight against his chest. Her heart leapt in her chest as he opened his eyes with great effort. It was all she could do not to shout for joy.

A wrinkle of confusion appeared between his eyes, and he licked his dry lips. "Mrs. Hughes," he rasped, "why are you in my bed?"

Her heart dropped and tears stung her eyes. Did he not remember? Were their months together, the life they'd built, lost to him?

Fighting to keep her voice steady, she said gently, "Our bed, Charles. And it is Mrs. Carson, if you please."

A smile spread across his face as his eyes slid shut. He breathed out, "Thank God. It wasn't a dream."

She couldn't help herself. She leaned forward to kiss his forehead, and his eyes opened wearily again. He began to cough, and she helped him turn to his side until the coughs subsided.

When the coughing had stopped, his nose wrinkled. "Something smells awful. Is it me?"

She laughed in relief and brushed at the tear that brimmed over her lid. "It's a mustard plaster to help the congestion."

A smile pulled at his lips again, "My wife the healer."

She quickly took the basin and cloth from the room and returned with a bowl of broth and tea with plenty of honey and lemon. His eyes were shut when she returned, and his breathing had slowed. It only took a touch of her hand on his arm to rouse him, however, and he struggled but failed to raise himself on his elbows.

She blamed the harshness of her voice on fear, "You'll let me raise you."

"Yes, ma'am," he said softly.

With one arm under his shoulders, together they managed to get him propped up on a pillow enough to take in some sustenance. He was breathing hard with the effort, and his eyes were heavy. "My head aches something awful."

Her breath hitched and her hands trembled as she sat down by his side ready to try to spoon some broth into him.

His eyes might be tired, but they still missed nothing. "What happened?"

She shook her head, not quite ready to relive it yet, even for his benefit. She held a spoonful of broth to his mouth, and he stubbornly kept his mouth closed, eyes fixed steadily on hers.

She sighed, "You were on your way back from York."

His eyes closed for long enough that she feared he might have dosed off again. When he opened them, he said, "The bridge was icy."

She nodded and offered him the spoon of broth again. He opened his mouth and sipped it carefully, swallowing with difficulty. "The best broth I've ever had."

She smiled, and arched an eyebrow at him. "Is it? I shall have to tell Alfred."

"Alfred?"

She nodded, "He has cooked for me, and William has been bringing in wood and water."

"Good lads," then his brows pulled down, "Gracie?"

She spooned more broth into his mouth. "She's with Mrs. Molesley. I didn't like her to see you so ill."

He nodded and grimaced at the pain. "Tell me."

She continued, voice hitching as she recalled William's words. "The bridge was icy. You were afraid the horse would slip."

He accepted another spoonful of broth, keeping his eyes fixed on her face as he swallowed. "We couldn't, I couldn't..."

She brushed his arm. She knew. He couldn't have borne putting another horse down so soon. His eyes conveyed his thankfulness for her understanding far more than words could have.

With a sniff, she continued, "You got down from the cart to try to break the ice a bit and lead the horse."

His brow furrowed as he tried to remember, but she doubted he would after the blow he'd taken. She lifted the tea to his lips, but before he could take a sip, another coughing fit overtook him. She sat the cup down and rubbed his back, willing the cough to subside. When it finally did, she offered him the cup again. He took a small sip, letting it slide down his throat. She brushed away the bit that leaked from the side of his mouth with a napkin.

"You slipped."

"Into the water?"

She nodded, thinking of the icy, racing river and how easily he could have been swept from her. Forcing those thoughts down, she put her hand on his arm to remind herself that he was here, he was alive, and he was awake. "You nearly pulled yourself out. William had looped a rope under your arms to help you. Then a branch hit you in the back of the head and knocked you out. If he'd not been with you..." Her voice choked on the words.

He spoke softly, "But he was."

She nodded, fighting back the tears. "I shudder to think what might have happened."

His voice was firm even though his eyelids were drooping, "But it did not."

Her voice was fierce through her tears, "You'll not leave me, Charles Carson. Do you understand? I forbid it."

His eyes opened wide, and she could see the hint of a smile on his lips.

"Do you, Mrs. Carson?"

"I do. I can't lose you. I won't lose you."

He nodded, "Forbid me then, woman, and I won't be lost."

His eyelids drooped again, and she let him drift off into sleep. His breaths still sounded wet, but they were more steady and even now. His face seemed less grey. She smoothed his curl from his brow. She would change the mustard plaster, and when he woke again she would give him more yarrow root tea, broth, and honey with lemon. He would get better. She would allow nothing else.

 ** _To be continued_**


	25. A close shave

_**A few days later**_

Charles sat on the edge of the bed, ashamed of the wave of dizziness that nearly overtook him. He held himself steady for several moments and the dizziness subsided enough that he was willing to risk standing. He pushed himself up and held onto the bedside table to steady himself while he waited for another wave of nauseating dizziness to subside, knocking a book off the table in the process. Fighting the urge to lie back down, he reminded himself that Elsie would be back with Gracie soon. He wanted to surprise both his girls by being clean and upright.

He heard a sound from the doorway and opened his eyes to see William and Alfred there studying him carefully.

"Still not quite steady, lads," he said gruffly, "But I need to be up for the girls." He coughed and gripped the table harder while wrapping an arm around his chest in an effort to minimize the pain.

Both boys were by his side in an instant. William spoke, "You should stay put, Mr. Carson. It's more than we're worth if Mrs. Carson comes back to find you worse."

He lifted his chin and gripped the boy's shoulder tightly. "I want to look as though I'm getting well." They looked at him doubtfully so he swallowed his pride and added, "Please help me."

William nodded shortly and Alfred quickly stepped into the kitchen to bring back a chair.

"Sit here, sir," he said, "and we'll fetch what you need."

Charles smiled. He supposed it would have to do. "First, bring me a cloth and some water so that I can wash. Then, I'll need to shave."

After he had managed to sponge himself off, he looked to his shaving things. They stood by watching him for any sign of needing assistance. Charles held out his hand and was dismayed by the tremor, not quite sure if he was willing to risk his nose for smooth cheeks.

William interrupted his thoughts, "I could shave you sir."

Charles's eyes took in the faint fuzz on the boy's upper lip with amusement. "Have you ever shaved before?"

"No sir, but I'm willing to learn."

Charles took a moment to wonder if he would rather take his chances with trembling hands versus novice ones. Then, he saw William's earnest eyes. Hadn't he chosen to take on the role of teaching the lads?

"Very well," he said, "wet the soap first. Just a few drops, mind. Then work up a lather with the brush."

William followed his instructions eagerly and was soon applying the shaving soap generously to Charles's cheeks. Alfred watched with interest, taking in every instruction.

"Now, strop the razor to smooth the burrs."

William took the razor awkwardly in his hand, so Charles took it from him to adjust his grip. The boy held it better now, but still stiffly. Putting his hand over William's, he guided him in stropping the razor. "Lay your finger along the back of the blade. Like this." William caught on quickly enough and his grip relaxed.

Once the razor was smooth, Charles could delay the inevitable no longer. He hid his nervousness as best he could and said, "I always like to do the cheeks first. Hold the skin tight, then you draw the razor down at an angle."

The boy held the razor at the top of his cheek just as he'd shown him, and Charles sent up a silent prayer that he'd not be skinned alive. When the first pass removed nothing but whiskers, he nearly sighed in relief.

"Now rinse the soap and whiskers from the edge," Charles said, "and make another pass."

In this way, William slowly shaved Charles, pausing occasionally to let him cough, until only a bit of soap on his upper lip and chin were left. Alfred remained a silent but interested witness.

'"This is the trickiest bit," Charles said, wondering if he would lose his nose or his chin in the next few moments. He pulled his upper lip down, and William scraped off his mustache with a newly practiced ease. Then he put his tongue into his lower lip and before he could be too worried, the whiskers were completely scraped away, even the bit in the cleft of his chin.

Smoothing his hands over his cheeks, he felt only one patch of missed whiskers which certainly wasn't worth mentioning to the lad who was anxiously watching for his approval.

"Excellent," he smiled, "I could hardly have done better myself even without trembling hands."

William's chest puffed up, and he rinsed the razor while Alfred fetched trousers and a shirt from the wardrobe. Charles answered his concerned look.

"I think I can manage from here, but I'll need a cloth for my neck. If you can fetch that, you boys may go to the sitting room."

Alfred's eyes were drawn to the scars on Charles's neck, and he blurted out, "Are those burns sir? Not from when you were in the river, are they?"

William looked at him aghast and hissed, "Alfie!"

Charles cleared his throat which led to a short coughing spell. After a moment, he met the lad's eyes. "Not from the river," he said, "I will tell you, both of you, but not today."

"That's why you always wear a neck cloth, though, isn't it?" William asked

"We all have chapters we'd rather not be published," Charles reminded them.

They nodded, accepting his explanation and turning their backs while Charles changed his trousers. Charles sat down to rest for another moment and then stood again to pull on his shirt. They turned back to watch him as he slowly buttoned his shirt. William pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, reminding Charles forcefully of Elsie.

After a few moments, the boy said very quietly, "Gracie looks more like Mrs. Carson."

Charles met his eyes, knowing what he was asking. He chewed his inner cheek for a moment as he decided how to answer. "I've known Gracie since the day she was born, and I loved both her and her mother before that. Sometimes family is what you make it."

Alfred glared at his brother. "We're very grateful to you, Mr. Carson. We didn't mean to pry."

Charles sighed, probably too tired for this conversation, but he didn't want there to be any misunderstanding.

"There's no prying in families," he said quietly, keeping his attention on knotting the cloth around his neck. Both boys looked at him sharply. William nearly dropped the razor. Charles admonished him, "You must be careful. Don't cut yourself."

William nodded, "Um, yes, sir, of course. I'll just, I should probably fetch in more wood."

Alfred swallowed and closed his gaping mouth. "And, um, I should check the stew."

Charles offered him a half smile. "You make an excellent mutton stew." Then he added hastily, "Don't tell Mrs. Carson."

"Don't tell Mrs. Carson what?" Elsie asked from the doorway. Charles shut his eyes in frustration at being caught out. He was saved by his daughter squirming out of his wife's arms and rushing toward him

"Da, Da, Da!"

He caught her as soon as she reached him and pulled her into his lap. "There's my Gracie. I've missed you."

"Da sick," she said, and pressed her head to his shoulder.

"He was, but now he's just tired," he said, pressing his cheek to her hair.

Elsie clicked her tongue at him, "And no wonder. What are you about being up?"

"Our lads helped," he said, fixing his eyes on hers, lifting an eyebrow and nodding to the boys.

"Our lads?" she asked archly and Charles felt the boys go suddenly still. She scoffed, "Your lads more like it. All four of you will be against me soon."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw both boys grin in relief.

"Did you hear that lads? And any one of us willing to anything for the woman," he said. "Ungrateful wife."

William spoke up, "We'd be lost without her, Mr. Carson. You know we would be." Alfred nodded his agreement.

Elsie blushed, "Flatterers, the lot of you. He's teaching you bad habits."

Alfred was very serious, "The very best, Mrs. Carson. The very best."

 ** _To be continued_**


	26. Another storm

_**A few months later**_

Elsie startled awake with a tiny cry to find herself staring into the frightened eyes of her daughter. A flash of lightning followed by a loud clap of thunder let her know just why she was there. She opened her arms, and Gracie quickly climbed in the bed next to her. Gracie cuddled close to her side, burrowing her head against her shoulder.

Elsie smoothed her hand down her back until her tremors quieted. As Gracie started to dose in her arms, she reached behind her to feel for Charles, but he wasn't there. She hoped the damp wasn't affecting his breathing. Turning fully over, she saw his dark form standing over the crib. A flash of lightning illuminated his face, and it worried her.

"Charles? Is she not well?" she asked, alarmed and ready to go to her other child.

"She's fine,"he shook his his head, "Sleeping sound." His tone still worried her as did the cough he stifled against his shoulder. There was a crinkle of concern between his eyes which she was ready to question, but Gracie whimpered again. She turned her attention to soothing her back to sleep. As she whispered quietly to Gracie, she felt the bed dip behind her, and Charles's warmth against her back. His arm wrapped around her, and he stroked Gracie's side, soothing her as well.

"Still scared of storms, poor girl," he said softly and brushed his lips against Elsie's bare shoulder. "But you're not."

She reached behind her to caress the angle of his hip. "What is there to be frightened of? Just a bit of noise. I'm surprised it didn't wake the babe, though. This is her first storm."

He grunted noncommittally, rolling his shoulders, and pressed his lips to the back of her neck, pulling Gracie and her closer into his embrace.

They lay for a long while tucked together and listening to the storm until it slowly began to dissipate. Gracie was sleeping soundly, and she was enjoying listening to her husband's steady, quiet breaths with no worrisome coughs, almost ready to dose off herself. He interrupted her dosing with a gentle rumble.

"The storm's almost passed. Let me take Gracie back to her bed."

She yawned. "Thank you. Give me the babe, though. If I'm awake, she might as well nurse. It will save her waking later."

He rose quietly and followed her instructions before gathering Gracie against his chest and leaving the bedroom. It took a bit of coaxing, but soon the baby was awake and nursing. Charles took an abominably long time returning. She was nearly finished nursing the other side by the time he returned.

"Did Gracie wake?"

He chuckled, "No, she's snoring away. Alfred was up, though."

"Alfred?"

"Looking for a snack. Where does he put it?"

"One of his legs must be hollow," she smiled, "Perhaps we should have thought more before taking on two growing lads."

He smiled and laid down again at her side, brushing his hand over the babe's downy hair and the side of her breast and resting his head on her shoulder.

"They're good lads. They more than earn a bit of bread and butter in the middle of the night," he said, but she could hear the frown in his voice.

"What is it?"

"What is what?" he asked, and she could feel the roll of his shoulders.

She turned her head so that it was almost touching his, "Something has you bothered."

"We can talk about it tomorrow. Tonight you should rest," he said, brushing lips over her cheek.

"Will you?" she asked. The stony silence that met her question was her answer so she insisted gently, "Charles, love, do you not know that if you can't sleep, neither can I?"

He was silent for long enough that she was ready to demand an answer. Becky's mouth dropped open, milk trailing from the edge as she fell asleep, finally sated. Elsie patted her back to burp her, still waiting for Charles to speak. Then he spoke softly, trailing his fingers over their daughter's head, cheek, and finally tracing the edge of her ears.

"She's beautiful. She looks just like you," he said.

"Mmmm. Perhaps she does," she said, "but she has your chin."

His thumb moved down her jawline to trace the cleft in her chin. His arm tightened around them, and he swallowed suddenly before blurting out, "I don't think she can hear."

She stilled, wondering why he would say such an awful thing. "Whatever would make you think that?"

She could hear the anguish in his voice, "The storm woke me. I remembered how frightened Gracie used to be so I thought Becky might be the same." He took a deep breath and continued deliberately, "Elsie, I was watching her. The thunder was loud. She didn't even flinch. Then, I tried to remember, even once, a time when she startled to a sound. I couldn't. Can you?"

Even while anger rose in her at her husband's words, her mind drifted back to at least a half dozen times when she had been worried that Gracie, noisy toddler that she was, had awakened or frightened Becky only to check and see that she was sleeping soundly or gurgling happily in her bassinet.

Charles was continuing, his voice trembling, "I didn't want to say. I hope it isn't true. I don't want it to be true. I wanted to test it. To watch closer. Perhaps I've just not seen before now. Or maybe she can learn... Or it could get better."

The tears that bit at the back of her throat made her voice much harsher, "I don't think one learns to hear. Either she hears or not."

"I'm sorry, Elsie," he said, "It's my fault."

She turned in his arms, Becky between them now. "And why would you think that?"

"Gracie is fine. It must be me," he said, "I'm flawed in some way."

"No," her voice was firm and decided.

He chided her gently, "How can you know?"

"I refuse to accept that there is anything wrong with you or us. If," she emphasized, "and I do mean if, I'm still not convinced. If she can't hear, it is just something that happens, like being born with blue eyes or curly hair or a cleft in her chin." She lifted eyes to his defiantly and pulled her daughter closer.

He put his hand on Becky's back and entwined his fingers with hers, bending forward to press a grateful kiss to her lips and then the back of Becky's head.

She pressed her head into his shoulder. "For now, we'll do just as you said. We'll watch her. If she can't hear, then we'll soon know. She's a wee thing. All she needs now is love."

He drew them both closer. "And we will love her," he said softly. "No matter what. I won't see her in one of those places, Elsie." He jutted his chin forward defiantly. "If she has problems, we will find ways to take care of her. I promise that."

"Of course," she agreed, "our family takes care of its own."

 ** _More to come soonish. Just a little nervous about this one._**


End file.
